11/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Simon

O crap—he thinks—I’ve got a fucking cold.
My head is full of Halliburton concrete--
the rotten kind—all crumbly & old--
that plugs you up before it starts to leak.
How many rhinoviruses are there?
I’d’ve thought by now I’d had them all.
For seven days he’s doomed, so he takes care
to spread the joy beyond his own four walls.
No way around it—gotta go to work.
They’ve made it clear—his job is on the line.
The workplace doesn’t offer many perks,
save spreading misery on company time.
So there goes Simon. Smiling. Shaking hands.
Right on—he says-- gonna stick it to the man.