cas’ fri.
clockwatcher
i want to live and die by the clock.
well, not that clock–
it doesn’t have a built-in radio.
i want my job to be my entire life:
to breath it, to live it,
to stress and stress and stress over it,
to infinity, and then some,
and for it to be the “reason” i never had children.
oh, i want to hate it, too:
to long for home just to long to be back,
a lonely rider, looking longingly,
briefcase in both hands.
you know what people did before alarm clocks?
they went to work when they FELT like it.
“if the rooster’s not crowing, i ain’t going!”
was popular, i’ve been told.
and then, present-day, somewhere– no one knows where–
a middle-aged trucker,
his son at his side,
throws his map out the window of the beast
and hesitates, shifting gears.
mason jar
my boss is THIRTY-ONE years older than me.
this puts things in perspective.
salt mines
i once spent some time
toiling in the salt mines.
forced to toil,
as is so often the case.
it was great.
everything i tasted that year
was delicious.