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The wondrous job… |
| The commute, by rail and foot, two hours away; The uncertain labor and sudden deadline stress; The arguments at dinner time, their hair now gray; The apartment disorganized, the stove a mess; The gym she goes to daily after work; The neighborhood cafe they both enjoy; Weekends of lounging somewhere with a book; Her niece enjoying a birthday toy; The work she’s grown to hate is half her life; The wound is what she knows she can’t control; And until she figures out a way to health Her happiness will drip out of the hole. She takes creative pride in projects done; In every conference call that goes half well; Writes a tribute to the paid fun By telling herself it’s heaven, not hell; To love your job, gift it every day With a poem honoring its eternal beauty. Written for a daily contest:
Today’s prompt was to write about turning something you hate into something nice. |