Poem of the Month

Kate Bernadette Benedict

After Long Days Visiting the Nursing
Home, I Return to the Office

. . . to screen calls,
take minutes,
tweak numbers,
draft, deal, fax,
fix coffee,
smile the robotic smile.

How well everyone seems,
gesticulating forcefully,
walking unfalteringly on sound legs.
No one says fork when he means briefcase,
no one snores at the conference table
or slumps limply at her desk, dribbling.
Our chairs have wheels
but only so we can work faster,
swiveling deftly in the direction of vital purposes.

Odd, then, that breezing by a certain open door,
I catch sight of Manny, in his shirtsleeves,
motionless, emotionless, corpse-eyed,
no purpose in his eyes at all.
I hurry by
but sidewise I perceive his silhouette,
faint behind a scored glass wall.
His head is in his hands now,
his spine bows,
his weary posture an augury of times to come.