Holy Tuesday
this week, this holy, beaten week
nails TGIF to my tongue;
even with the crowbar leverage of my faith,
prying,
I can’t manage to say it.
no, not in a month of Sundays.
I’ll thank God it’s Friday
every other dirty work-week sunset,
but this coming gross solemnity
steals my voice
and fills my ears with afternoon thunder.
how can I keep from shivering?
when I tally all my unpaid sick days
and on-the-job injuries
and workplace harassments
and the other smaller crucifixions
that cut into my barely living wage,
I’m sorely tempted just to quit.
but on this longest of weekends
I remember that the work has just begun
and the same hope that rolled the stone
rolls up my sleeves.
Then I’m back at it again
fully compensated next Tuesday.
Dodzi Amemado
Posted at 06:51h, 16 AprilThank you, Greg. Powerful poem!
Peter Bisson, SJ
Posted at 08:57h, 16 AprilThank you Greg!
darcy Mann
Posted at 00:32h, 17 AprilThe poem resonates with me, having been a long time first responder….