POEM - THE LONG COMMUTE

he was often late because
he road the public bus system
and we all know how those are.
It took him three hours round trip
to come to that job
which was paying us
seven and a quarter an hour
before taxes.
All day long we sat there
kicking at the asphalt
and all day long
he’d talk about quitting that job
because it wasn’t worth the commute.
We’d grunt and snort
and finally one of us would say,
“well, it is a mind numbing
and low paying job, but it is a job,
and there aren’t many of those
around here right now.”
But every Thursday when he arrived
he’d have snapped from the commute
too much time on the public bus system
somebody on the bus
would have smelled too bad
or some baby would have been crying
the entire time.
He’d storm over from the bus stop
and slam his fist down
on the valet stand and say, “that’s it!
I’m tendering my resignation.
I’m done with this fucking job.”
He’d spend the rest of the day
writing and rewriting
a page long resignation letter
(they were required there in Nevada)
and fax it over to the head office
before we closed up shop.
Then on the following day
he’d come jogging over from the bus stop
and pull out another sheet of paper .
He’d spend the day writing and rewriting
a letter that stated
how he had made a mistake
and didn’t want the company
to accept his previous resignation letter.
He did this for eight weeks straight
and then nobody ever heard from him again.