Work

Poem... April... this one is about why getting to even write a poem becomes a challenge that exceeds creativity...

Work

First I cleaned an office

Then I clerked in a dairy/deli

Then came the home remodeling labor

Then there was the bookstore

Back to remodeling

Then the Red Lobster

Then cleaning another office building

Then the kitchen in the hospital

All of that by 21

None of those jobs defined me

because they were all about

letting me define me

They were a means to an end

They started and stopped

It was almost like it wasn't me that was there at all

--------------

Then another kitchen

and another kitchen

and another kitchen

--------------

Then, all of a sudden,

Because I had a high school degree

and didn't have TB

I was a high school substitute reacher

and at the same time I managed a liquor store

(well, not at

exactly the same time...

teacher by day

seller of libations by night)

and I started noticing a shift

I started referring to myself

as what I did

--------------

Then came a stab at Real Estate

Then graphic arts

Then more graphic arts

and somehow that became

'fix the computers'

and that turned into

'manage the people

that use the computers

to make the graphic arts'

Then more computers and

more people to manage

until I have no idea

who I am

but I sure can manage people

and fix computers

--------------

I used to say

"I've always been

a dishwasher,

but the dishes just kept getting

more and more

expensive."

But I was wrong.

A dishwasher goes home

when the dishes are done

when the last bus pan is empty

and the floors are mopped

and the garbage taken out

and leaves behind the chores

and the worries

until the next day.

I haven't gone home

without my work coming with me

for over 25 years.

When I look inside of me

I see my work

and nothing else.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed