Work from Home

I give myself a task at the start of the day: reduce the amount you weigh

Breakfast on the go,

was it good? Do I know?

I can't remember how it tasted, I only that I have ate

My destination is finally reached, after dodging cars in the streets.

I hate the sound of a beep, when the driver is a creep.

Or is he just a man trying to show he’s a fan,

Of how my silhouette looks on the curb where I stand?

That’s none of my business.

I have somewhere to be. I’ve got to clock in and work for someone much richer than me.

I wonder if they remember the taste of the food that they eat?

If their bread is wheat...

If they can taste whether or not the milk is cheap.

If they hand drafted the goal they told me to reach:

twenty thousand to sell this week.

Of course not.

Someone else is doing exactly what I am: clocked-in,

working for the one who’s paying them.

There's no shame in that.

Growing up it was the only aim we had.

Make money so you won’t be sad-

you’ll have dollars to make you smile whenever you’re mad

But the work’s never done, the race that I run.

I’m chasing myself.

I clock out from their work then go work on myself:

On my mental health

On my personal wealth

On my prayer life - spiritual health- genuine wealth

I never clock out, not even when asleep.

Somehow my thoughts slither and slide, then come into my dreams.

In the morning when I’m up, I study the means.

Was that a message or a sign from a higher being?

Or am I just making more work looking for the meaning?

Why can't I just be satisfied I'm dreaming?

Too much time can’t be spent on that.

I have to pick out a pair of shoes to match my hat.

I have to pose in the mirror and see if (finally) my stomach is flat.

I have to rinse out a new cup and then twist back the cap,

off the box of plant milk that browns a drink that was black.

I have to reach into the cupboard, all the way to the back,

I have to pick a breakfast bar from a box that was packed.

I have to reach my destination and get to racks.

Though I never really clocked out, it’s time and I’m back.

But today I went home early because a virus attacked,

for a day or two I had time to unpack:

my life choices

my hobbies

my friends.

I have a new task at the start of the day: reduce the number of times you complain.

Because now the breakfast is not to-go, and it was good!

I remember now, because I ate it slow.

My destination is easily reached,

as I move from kitchen counter to bedroom sheets,

then clock in from the place I usually sleep.

The room is silent aside from me:

tap-tap, click-click.

No beeps from creeps on the city streets.

Twelve months goes by too quickly for me.

Twelve months and still no office coffee, or printed spreadsheets.

No security gaurd at the entrance to greet,

No workwear attire, no skirts with pleats.

Then I remember an old saying from my boss,

"We spend more time at work than we do with our families at home,

so treat each other like family, know in this office, you're never alone.

We have each other's back, we work as a team!

Work hard, be present,

don't slack or daydream!"

I recall these words over homemade latte foam,

"We spend more time at work than we do with our families at home..."

"Home"

Home?

As my eyes survey my lonely room, and I space out of the morning Zoom,

I realize my living space is truly just a resting place.

I long for giggles in the break room with male coworkers, suited and groomed.

I long for fruitless conversation on nearby bars and lifting weights.

My workspace really was like home!

Now that I work from inside my room, I'm thankful for my morning Zooms

They bring a home-like feeling to my house, with every click of my PC mouse

Working from home, what a luxury.

It took me twelve entire months to see,

my mind at work is best for me.

Somehow the tasks put my mind at ease,

be what it may, I'm a busy bee.

I give myself another task now: enjoy this simple luxury,

Clock-in, clock-out, sip on something warm and sugary.

There's no other place you'd rather be.