Work
Nobody likes it.
That’s why they call it work.
Work is always boring
Or it is hard
Or it is tiring
Or there is too much to remember
Or it’s the old same.
You get up early or you stay up late
You don’t like your boss or your customers
You have to work with jerks or you never see anyone
And nobody cares--not ever
Nobody thanks you, Not ever---
---That’s why they call it work
And the secret of life is this--
It’s the same for everyone.
I don’t care what you call your job.
Ballerinas flitting across the dance floor
Like lovely, graceful doves
Want more than anything
A foot massage and a warm bath.
Priests, delivering the sacred host
At the midnight mass on Christmas
Grumble about having to get up early.
Presidents wish they could turn their phones off
Just once--but they can’t, you see
It’s their job--
--That’s why the call it work.
But take heart, brethren
There is another secret of life, also
A secret given by an ancient sage
“There is nothing better
Than to eat and drink
And find satisfaction
In your work.”
Work makes us happy, but only in bits and pieces.
We find satisfaction at work, but never from it
Satisfaction hides like child in the basement
It’s there, but only if we look for it
It’s there in the easy laughter of construction workers
As they eat lunch on an I-beam
A thousand feet in the air
And look at the city below.
It’s there in the faces of the garbage men
Seeing the first rays of the sun
As it glistens off broken glass at the dump.
It’s there in the in the rhythm of the hammer
In the music of the saw
In the laughter of children at day care
In the cheer of a crowd
In the aroma of a well-cooked meal.
Go and find it, my children
Find the satisfaction of your work
Or better yet
Let the satisfaction of your work
find you.
Or not, if you choose.
Whether you find it or not
you still have to do it--
--That’s why they call it work.
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