PRODUCTIVITY
an epic poem starring your sanity
Forward
back,
you press mechanically
your jaw clenched and aching.
You can feel your already minute teeth wearing away into fine dust;
the type you find on old library books or ancient artifacts.
Your Shoulders feel heavy
even though they’ve risen to nearly meet your ears.
Something is pressing on you.
And all you can think to do is take that weight and heaviness
and use it to pummel
the situation,
your environment,
your lover
into something smaller and easier to consume.
You are pounding against it, them, with a pestle.
It makes your hand ache.
An ache that travels up your right arm and into a perpetual knot that sits at the nape of your neck where it meets your right shoulder.
But still, you grate against a wooden bowl.
It’s painful hard work that gives you a sense of righteousness as you fantasize about the outcome.
