Franny Choi

5/30: Sort of Work

Posted by on Apr 08 2013, in Uncategorized

It is the first real spring day of the year
in a place where winter is as spiteful
as I am. And I am at work, two hours
past Friday, knowing the need for sleep
almost as real as deadlines. Finally,

I drag myself from sleepwalk’s
sinkhole and leave, lists and listless
duty hanging off my elbows. Outside:
yellow light, barbecue smoke, a guy
singing on the corner, and I feel

nothing. High schoolers with bright
backpacks and loud jokes crowding
the bus; and I am not full, nor filled
with hunger for more. I am a tube of
toothpaste squeezed dry. Muscles

in my back are a packs of wolves,
an ache I cannot outrun. Tell me
why my calves hurts after so much sit
and still and dull crises clanging around
the aquarium walls. Tell me, what sort

of work is this? Where the body pays
for the sins of the mind, its vanities
and obsessions? Oh, work– urgent
to everything but my own salvation,
without even the holiness of sweat.

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