Poetry
The In-between
A memoir of working
I start my day at 6:15,
sit down for my first meeting at 7:00.
There is no way to get up early enough
to be considered ambitious anymore.
Mark Wahlberg is up at 3:30 or something
and has already worked out twice
by the time I’m even thinking about coffee.
The meeting is a team meeting.
There is no reason for it to be at 7:00 except that it is.
I have asked repeatedly for it to be later. But it is at 7:00.
We are delinquent in reacting to drafts of the consumer survey
and the retail survey.
We need a presence at a conference.
Some people will BRB, says the chat.
There’s a TAM project in progress,
and Jean will be beating the bushes for new accounts.
I have another meeting at 8:30.
In the in-between 30 minutes
I will have time to be myself,
drink coffee, scrawl a few words.
30 minutes is a lot of time to be myself.
I remember my first few years out of college —
Shannon will tell us who is handling our new accounts —
I remember my first few years out of college,
I would try to write a poem some mornings on my way to work,
on the back of an envelope,
as the sun was coming up.
