Sad
Missing
do the trees
miss their leaves
in the frozen
heart of winter
does the moon
miss the stars
at the end of
time
does the shore
miss the sea
when
the earth
has burned
to ash
do you
miss me
when you
turn your face
away
because
I
miss
you
2
Sit on the edge of sadness
feel it pull at you
call to you
Imagine now
the luxury of tears
Another one for National Poetry Month.
Fulfillment Center
What has happened
to a nation,
a people
who think its fulfillment
can be ordered from a warehouse?
Yesterday I was listening to a program about jobs on NPR. The guest said many people are leaving the retail sector for jobs in Fulfillment Centers. Well, when I heard ‘fulfillment centers’ I thought of something like Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory (though, actually that creeped me out a little bit). But some place beautiful, that involved nature and spiritual pursuits and maybe puppies (but not puppy mill puppies, and no puppy poop), or maybe a library that had free coffee and tea.
Ok, basically I had no idea what a fulfillment center was. But as I listened I realized what they meant by ‘fulfillment center’ was warehouse that dealt with e-commerce. That’s just so Orwellian, I sort of couldn’t believe my ears; but when I looked up the definition, sure enough, I found this:
“Fulfillment Center: The location where incoming orders are received from affiliated stores or locations. These orders are processed and filled. These centers may also work independently of specific companies where orders are outsourced for the purpose of fulfilling customer orders.”
You can see for yourself here: Business Dictionary
I’m not sure I can express how profoundly sad this makes me.
When it Hurts to Stay
Ooooh Babe
Don’t leave me now
Don’t say it’s the end of the road
-from “Don’t Leave Me Now,” by Roger Waters
Hold me down, count my ribs.
Show me my blood
in red and white
Steal my legs
and then my lungs.
Stick in the needle, drain my veins.
Peel back my hair, my skin, my scalp
Burn my flesh
with your tender touch
as you hold my hand and
beg me not to go
This is a 55 word poem inspired by a sad song, as prompted in the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. I think I’ve veered a bit from the original prompt, but this was what I needed to write today.
