Gastown Steam Clock
I count this day: work day
Not Tuesday nor Wednesday.
The sun hides behind the ruffled clouds.
And mustard walls, penciled with industrial carpet.
The office phone rings and I look for myself.
Someone is always pushing the buttons
In the elevators & up my cheek bones.
I am growing a thick skin & ulcer stones by the hour.
I burrow into the night. My cheque comes
every two weeks. Then disappears just as quickly
As fading keys. As rain by cruel summer.
Under the ceiling, the paint slowly peels off
In weariness. I remind myself to change the lights
to an energy saving ones. I hold into hands-
Inner & invisible- to keep my wheels
from going out of yellow lanes. To set my fires afloat.
Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub - Thanks for the visit ~