Wednesday, April 8, 2015



How precious are the times we have of peace,
amidst the madness that afflicts our lives…
A tranquil moment, in the press of work
within a factory, gives us sustenance.

We see, within a school, the teachers who
must run from room to room.  They race, when in
those rooms as well – and scold the tardy kids,
as they themselves are scolded in their turn.

For those who lag, where others go at speed,
are trampled.  So the workers all must race.
How pleasant, then, the slower interlude
at lunch.  How dear, that ending bell!

And yet, observe.  When students all have left,
a teacher stays and toils – and eyes the clock.
For if she stays past six and then is seen,
a reprimand or worse is her reward.
And when at last, at night, in wintertime,
she furtively escapes – and exiting
is greeted by the air that’s bracing, fresh –
how grateful she is then, for that relief.
And as she walks along the city streets,
she shivers, but she now has time to see
the naked limbs of trees, to hear the wind,
to calmly breathe – and so to simply be...

On reaching home, attending to her chores
of work and home, she seeks a little time
for those she loves and for her ragged self.
And that’s enough – for then it’s time to sleep.

And let us hope that sleep is restful, deep
and free of all that plagued her in the day.
For this, we pray – but rarely is it so.
The madness enters even in our sleep.
2015 April 8th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

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