When I was there there were the cotton trees.
All that rambunctious white. Clouds of ennui.
Potted flowers appeared to line the podium
whenever someone’s going to give a speech.
Every one twitching when that’s going on.
So I’d commune with the trees. The dark water
reflecting them. Oh, the sheer busyness of work!
All of us, at least, had a purpose. Not having
had to live in a dumpster, or a commune. But
when that ended, what then? What purpose now?
Prompt: Monday blues? Well be grateful that you have work. I’m thinking of work that brings in a paycheck versus work that consumes one’s soul. How much of you is defined by the work? A little or a lot? There’re also those who do not work. Who can’t get work. Who haven’t worked in years. Mostly women I think, whose careers get derailed during the mothering phase. Someone’s got to take care of the kids, right? Undoubtedly work is important. In it you find your life’s purpose. Anyway, Writers Digest Day 18 prompt to write about the office had got me thinking about work.