God’s Factory
in which I question time-management, etc
After a hurried food court lunch
I loiter at the newsstand,
one of several office workers
who crowd this ledge of day
delaying a return to desk
and digital display.
I reach for the National Geographic,
drawn by the cover photo:
a thousand-year-old monastery
crumbling above
its storied, meticulously pruned,
reiterating vineyards.
I flip to a photo of gnarled vines
that summarizes survival.
Then this one, of bottles laid up
in cellared contingency
hinting of a term on work,
itself the image of work.
O servitors of vellum and ink,
adopters of the clock
before the hours were invented –
old parcellers of day
in God’s factory! I doubt,
and do what’s to be done.
