Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Sonnet #85

The thing no one says about growing up
Your back will hurt for sixty years, your feet
will be sore, you'll feel it when you wake up
The things demanded from the body, the concrete
Under the boots for eight long hours on the job
The way even typing long enough to live on it
Means the back and wrists will falter and dislodge
And, the less you're paid, the more it hurts to do it
The more you wonder is the feeling in the morning
worth it? We're not allowed to be lazy, to call in
We're not allowed to heal our agonies, stand and wring
the muscles loose and get back to it, Work through pain
Anyone who says there's something wrong about this
Deserves to hurt, get called names: Hippie. Communist.

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