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Shift Work
Rotations of working shifts keeps my body cycles guessing,
Constant change in the rhythms creates disorder within me.
My soul craves to walk with the universal soul at his pace.
But this infernal disruption creates only a dark reflection
Of what could be.
7 to 3, 3 to 11, 11 to 7; without order, without a beat.
Throw in the occasional sixteen into the mix and my mind revolts!
Let me off of the spinning wheel of doom.
Where is the pattern, the habits, the order?
Thrown out onto the street as I grab a fistful of money.
Weekends without meaning as they are filled with work,
Holidays drift into ambiguity with another shift of work.
The job is 24/7, 365.
Unceasing change, without ritual, without an anchor;
Adrift in the bay of discontent.
A storm approaches.
The National Cancer Society lists shift work as a carcinogen.
Selling my life for a few bucks more,
Hopeless, without the guts to just simply walk away.
Shift work; today 7/3, tomorrow 11/7;
Shocking my body this evening to become a creature of the night.
Glassy eyes, irregular heartbeat, breath too shallow.
My soul has lost it's bearings.
What am I working again tomorrow?
Oh, yeah, 11/7… my, my, my… I'm tired.
I'm tired of working with my soul in bondage.
I'm tired of the disruption of my life.
I'm tired of shift work.
Where is my courage? Where is my gumption?
I quit… did I really say it?
Nope… I'm still trapped by my own greed.
Shift work.
8Jul08
Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades
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