Dream Thieves
The scar ran diagonal
from Doug’s right eyebrow to the left corner
of his lips. Work accident
was all he’d say about it. Jen looked
like some comic book artist’s idea of a superhero
wearing two wrist braces every day one year
& Ralph gained ten pounds
between when he interviewed me
& when he went crazy on the conference call
yet he’s the one who says suck it up, buttercup
when I describe the nightmare project:
fourteen hour days seven days a week
& no end in sight.
When I was younger
& rode my bike or shelved books
or boiled pasta in five gallons of water
I knew I was selling my body,
understood the deal. I see the worn-out
men riding the subway home
from some construction site
posed as if they’d collapsed
into the seat, dusted in paint & dirt
& remember the week I got no sleep
& threw out my knee
thanks to Prateek insisting on deadlines
& there was no position that didn’t hurt, little icicles
of pain lancing my leg with every tremor
along the subway tracks
& an unending
headache, even in my dreaming.
You were arguing with someone, very angry
in your sleep my wife told me. Migraines,
high blood pressure, pain
without ceasing. They don’t tell
you office work will slowly
kill you, certain as cigarettes,
or that you’ll dream of spreadsheets
& muffled voices interrupting
each other endlessly on speakerphone
or what sitting & sitting at conference
table after conference table will cost
you, the years you’re signing
away. For a year after my first office
job I coughed without disease. Stress-related
the doctor said. Working late
& over the weekend is literally lethal
so after I say I’m not available
& my manager says you’re not a team
player the image
of that football player
whose leg bent backwards
comes to mind. But he was a team player
with a million dollar salary
while all I have to show for this is a bum knee,
twitching dreams, & these bottles of amlodipine bamboozling
my heart into thinking everything’s alright
which isn’t to say I’m not grateful
for health insurance & a paycheck
but two bottles of ibuprofen a week
& a throbbing knee are telling me
something, the same thing my bloodwork
says in a language only my doctor
understands, the thing that makes her frown
& ask me how work is going.
The Zone
After biking fast enough to talk smack
to light down the west side path
feeling the vibration of the vernal world
& knowing the touch of the sun
that’s when I feel the course
of it, my life, burning like everything is,
that’s when the morning’s rambling dog
runs with an eye on something fast-moving,
that’s when I stride into the office,
the total season of rebirth in my eyes,
that’s when I’m all charm & common
sense & make colleagues laugh in meetings,
that’s when I punch through the punch
list & some of tomorrow’s too,
that’s when my wife surprises me for lunch
& we neck like teenagers in the park,
that’s when I help Aarti & then Lenix then Maria
then Sylvia & their days get better,
that’s when evening puts on his best pinks & purples,
the bike path offers a perfect tailwind all the way home,
that’s when every traffic light greens
as I reach it as if to sanction the parade of me,
that’s when no letters from the student loan sharks
snap & bark from the mailbox,
that’s when no dumb conversations with a difficult
manager spin in my head as I flutter to sleep,
that’s when I lie next to my wife in the heartbeat
of the darkness, breathing together without trying.
John Paul Davis‘s first book, Crown Prince Of Rabbits, was published in 2017. His second will be published by University of Pittsburgh Press in 2024. You can find out more about him at http://johnpauldavis.org
The Mantle 