Work Now

I know it's not like people don't know.
But do they know the soul,
the man, the tears, the fright of lightening?
That job is done and no more,
but silence.
And then a call to work.
Someone hunts for you or pretends to glance,
look at the next opportune paycheck,
a timely reminder of the cursed rush hour.

But I fear not,
though they know not me,
work or no.
But God, the man of creation.
Are we not all creative,
wiling away hours, fixing.
Paint by numbers, a reflection.
Next, we'll see how far this project.
Then we'll fly you to the Ozarks,
where hospitalization is free.

© 2012 Larry Ingram