Day Off
 

Not illness, but a wish for quiet
is the impetus for your escape
from manager and client, from work
no sooner finished than replaced.

Outside, traffic slowing and starting
on the avenue makes its usual din,
trucks and buses shifting gears:
commerce goes on.

Propped on the bookcase is a card
from a friend — a watercolor
of fruits and vegetables, perfectly shaped.
The artist’s name is illegible.

What to do? A front door slams.
The morning rush hour unwinds.
Deliberately, you loosen your shoulders,
your ankles, your long muscles.
 
 
 
© Claire Bauerle