16/10/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation
“Oh, your husband is a genius.”
Yes, he’s very talented at music,
He has quite the knack for getting the notes
To make the most beautiful sounds.
But he has no idea how to cook a meal –
I think even toast might be beyond him,
Let alone a 3-course dinner for guests,
Though I think he can manage a jam sandwich.
Don’t even ask him to put on a load of washing –
I think he thinks the clothes wash themselves,
As if by magic making their way from the floor
To the laundry and out onto the line.
I can’t remember the last time he shopped –
Even walking to the convenience store
To pick up a loaf of bread or a litre of milk
Is too much of a challenge for him.
“Oh, but he’s so busy with his composing.”
Yes, it does take up a lot of his time
And it is important that he does it
Because it does bring in some money.
But I, too have a full-time job I do –
I don’t just sit around waiting on him
Yet sometimes I feel like a servant,
Or worse, like an unindentured slave.
I get up always at the crack of dawn –
Breakfast is made, children are dressed
And the house is tidied as best it can be
Before I drive myself to the office.
When I get home, I see nothing is done –
The post is still in the letterbox,
The children have made themselves snacks
And toys are scattered around the place.
“Oh, but children need their mother.”
Yes, they do, and I love them dearly,
I would never give them up for anything,
They mean the world to me.
But they also need their father –
Who could perhaps spare an afternoon
To take them to the park to play
Or turn up to their school concerts.
Maybe, he could make sure they’ve bathed –
For all his talk, years ago, of wanting children
He has scant showed an interest in their lives
Except to boast of their achievements.
Would it really be such a bother to the world –
If his latest masterpiece took a week longer?
If his magnus opus was delayed a little?
If his life’s work involved more than music?
“Oh, but he’s an artist.”
Yes, but sometimes I wish he weren’t.
Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. (W.B. Yeats) Here lies that which is inside no more, that which burns my mind and must be expelled. Here lies the greatest of all inventions. Here lies words.
Showing posts with label excuses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excuses. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2020
Wednesday, August 19, 2020
Unemployed
07/08/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation
I am not unemployed.
I am unemployable.
There is no real reason.
It’s just what I’m told.
I have the qualifications.
I have done the all the hours.
I’d just like to be given a chance
Like everybody else.
I’m not overly political,
I don’t bring my views to work.
I don’t like to get into arguments
Or cause any tension.
I quite like sports and theatre,
I can happily talk about both,
And I’m not pushy with my opinion
Even when heavily pressed.
I can work from home or an office,
With others or on my own,
I sound, on paper, like perfection
Until I walk in the door.
They never come out and say it,
But how I look frightens them off.
They don’t need to tell me directly,
I can tell before they open their mouth.
I won’t apologise for who I am,
I can’t change the way I appear,
And if you won’t see past the superficial
I don’t want to work for you there.
But I would like to be given an opportunity
To show that I’m capable, at least.
That how I look doesn’t affect my work,
Only your perception of me.
I am not unemployed.
I am unemployable.
There is no real reason.
It’s just what I’m told.
I have the qualifications.
I have done the all the hours.
I’d just like to be given a chance
Like everybody else.
I’m not overly political,
I don’t bring my views to work.
I don’t like to get into arguments
Or cause any tension.
I quite like sports and theatre,
I can happily talk about both,
And I’m not pushy with my opinion
Even when heavily pressed.
I can work from home or an office,
With others or on my own,
I sound, on paper, like perfection
Until I walk in the door.
They never come out and say it,
But how I look frightens them off.
They don’t need to tell me directly,
I can tell before they open their mouth.
I won’t apologise for who I am,
I can’t change the way I appear,
And if you won’t see past the superficial
I don’t want to work for you there.
But I would like to be given an opportunity
To show that I’m capable, at least.
That how I look doesn’t affect my work,
Only your perception of me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)