“Work is Love, made visible.” Kahlil Gibran
we have felt half measures, quarter measures
and measured words, too
slogging through rain, or sleet, or snow
almost as soldiers do or simmering summer parking lots
like deserts
to make up the city plotted distance from the bus
to where our warehoused duties wait.
probationed like prisoners from the word go
in some places
you know, to show us who’s in control.
and you’re on trial, or even, on loan.
and don’t know anyone this far from home…
oh, my soul by planetary wars be not disturbed
the poet wrote. I add as a footnote.
this is what is called
working for a living and we are grateful
and forgiving
considering the alternatives.
yet when push comes to shoving us out the door
because you know they want to make more
and the easiest way is to cut your job
whatever it is
to make a Merry Christmas for the shareholders.
how can we not have a stake in this
when our lives are at risk, our families too
or maybe, only, our modest hobbies.
what we consider our life. our shabby home library,
more than shabby chic;
astronomy, keeping the goldfish fed.
other countries, torn by strife
by bloody civil unrest we know, we know
and children on their own
in every kind of zone
have suffered more than we, than me,
in the land of the nearly free on weekends
and I bow down and on my knees
for them.
but one small hymn
I sing for all my peers
who are counted failures.
wait. wait for the Gate swinging open
for your tears are heard
despite your being herded.
by the one who is the Word
that cannot be broken
who won’t use you like a token
to barge through the golden turnstiles.
though from the time that we sign on
each day survived seems like a miracle.
still to be there.
but for how long.
each day feels a little
like the French Revolution.
new heads may roll.
so you perfect your role
in the enterprise avoiding the tumbrils
the best you can
being pretty far out
from the chain of command
and they’re not sending the
Coast Guard
to find you in the flood.
though the One they crucified will.
_________________________
(the poet I cited is Elinor Wylie)
P.S. may God truly bless companies, managers,
coworkers who still retain the milk of human kindness.
and forgive those who don’t.And may we do all, endure all for Divine Love has surely done the same for us.
mary angela douglas 9 september 2019
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