[lit-ideas] Re: SECOND FRIDAY POEM
- From: Carol Kirschenbaum <carolkir@xxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Fri, 22 Apr 2005 14:54:14 -0700
"You watch safeguards expire."
ck: LOL--this line cracked me up!
Mind telling me where these poems are available in print, if they are? Love
"Union Square," btw.
Carol
----- Original Message -----
From: "Eric Yost" <eyost1132@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Friday, April 22, 2005 1:52 PM
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: SECOND FRIDAY POEM
> PS: I just hope you appreciate the trouble I'm going through!
>
>
>
>
>
> Apocalypse at Work
>
>
> You wake up late or linger over an extra banana.
> The shower feels good or the music hasn't ended
> or you can't release the bed-warm embrace or the
> telephone distracts you. The train or the bus or
> the car or your walk is impeded by lightning or rain
> or snow or a hurried driver's distant misfortune.
> The elevator's broken, a bomb scare believed,
> or a rush meeting called to discuss the executive's
> toe surgery. You read too many E-mails or memos or
> a co-worker has pictures of her Nashville trip that
> you simply must see. From this sequence, a few minutes
> drop from your morning, minutes to respond to the
> urgent issue, the pressing deadline, the final due date,
> the task at hand. You fail to request interns. You are
> late for tasks and too late to be proactive, responsive,
> compliant, prepared, closed. The opportunity is lost
> and the contract is voided and an option is forfeited:
> the glaring red button that flickers warnings is now
> flickering a warning, letting everyone know that a
> vital process was undermined, an enterprise dashed,
> and safeguards will expire. You watch safeguards expire.
> So the project is in meltdown as the failure cascades,
> and the emergency gates close, the merciless steel gates
> close and lock, as the alarm falls silent and the power
> is shut off and the terminal disconnects and the lights
> wink off in solemn tandem as everyone exits promptly and
> you are through, they are through, the whole mechanism
> has imploded, and the hated, yearned-for void of extended
> free time opens like the lips of an all-consuming giant,
> opens about you to spit you out into the world, breech shot
> and dripping amniotic misery, and you are alone with only
> imagination for routine, you cry and breathe hard and still
> you cry and you wake up late or linger over an extra banana.
>
> Eric Yost
>
>
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