Friday, March 02, 2007

#313: March 2, 2007

This cubicle looks like a dead-end street,
a blind alley I ran down by mistake
to hide from predators I had to shake,
their growls drowned by my breathing and heartbeat.

So now they've got me trapped; they lie in wait.
Only my dull routine holds them at bay.
The benefits and fat twice-monthly pay
keep them outside, just like an iron gate.

And so I sit here, staring at the walls
that cage my sanctuary, unafraid
and unfulfilled--all tame and bored, but paid,
pecking at keys and answering phone calls.

They're out there still, as silent as a snake,
just waiting till I finally make a break.

4 comments:

Sonnet Boy said...

TCABG.

ThatGreenyFlower said...

The fat checks have to count for something.

Sonnet Boy said...

Yeah, I know. I guess I just always wanted to be a Bohemian, and I feel I've missed the Bohemian boat. And squandered my potential in an area I loved for success and safety in an area I could care less about.

But maybe that's just me. :)

ThatGreenyFlower said...

No, dude, it's not like that at all. You have not squandered your potential, first of all. Secondly, what's to say that ultimately this wasn't a better path for you, anyway? I mean, living the hand-to-mouth bohemian life is not so exactly fabulous all the time, either. Maybe a string of histrionic girlfriends and no Sarah? Maybe alcoholism and still no publications? Maybe a series of efficiency apartments and day-jobs at Sears and no babies?

Just because we've "settled" doesn't mean that we're worse off or that we might not yet succeed in the literary world. It's just a different pace and a lot of unanticipated pleasures along the way. That's how I see it, anyhow.

A job is a job. My dad used to--I'm not kidding--heat canned food for me on the radiator in the warehouse where he both worked and lived. He's an incredible artist but thirty years later he STILL hasn't been "discovered."

My job allows a heck of a lot more of the day-to-day niceties of human civilization than did his. We can't afford a second car, but I get to heat up my canned food on a stove. Rock on! We're cookin' with gas and I'm not famous!