In unbecoming annoyance, she sat and looked forward.
Behind her sat the day,
Hot and contrasty, longish.
What she wanted was the sun.
What she wanted was the water.
Bliss: what she wanted.
Responsibility held her,
Like a massive spider web;
It held her and it choked her, and it told her what to do.
And she frowned,
Bared her teeth, but said "yes".
For she chose it.
It did not choose her.
Every bird cry was her own.
It sang her her soul, her mood, her anxiousness.
It whistled them down the lane and into the brook and under that sheet of metal,
That rusty sheet of metal that's been there for the summer long.
This day tasted like mango.
It felt like fiberglass.
It looked like what a normal day does.
She wrote it down because she was inspired.
People inspired her.
They "lifted her up",
They "gave her motivation"
They, he, did these things through words.
So in words did she give thanks.
33 minutes till a certain kind of freedom.
32 minutes till a Blazer game
31 minutes till a bathroom break
30 minutes till: radio on, window down, belt the Country Current Hits
29 minutes till a fresh cup of coffee? No.
28 minutes till the family says "hi!" and she says "hello" and drags her things down the flights of steps
27 minutes till she contemplates Pj's or normal clothes?
26 minutes till
Ah hell!
Boss walks down the hall.
Body becomes silent, rigid,
Professionalism: "Yes, have a lovely evening. Still working on that project. Results soon!"
Wednesday - ya ol' lump of difficulty.
Ya ol' lump of partial glee and half disappointment.
Bless you, you hateful thing.
