Keys, socks, sons and brothers…
these are the things that disappear.
There goes St. Anthony
on his hands and knees
a holy wreck of a man
reduced to acute workplace anxiety
by the open wound of solicitudes
of solicitations
bleeding out from his in-box.
Upper management puts out memos:
“Peace!
Move it!”
He’s on the phone
he’s pushing stock
but the numbers in the ledgers
keep coming out red.
This is more than a Sales Department
dilemma…
it’s a Human Resources disaster
and St. Anthony can’t find
the dime to make it work
at all levels as company policy.
God knows,
changing corporate culture is slow
and Jack, after years
with a gun in the jungle,
can’t remember well how to fit
back in the box;
but he’s already bending over
and climbing in…
now it’s up to us to make music
from other things beside the handle
that causes him to spring.
This poem first appeared in the 2017 Spring & Summer issue of Mission News.
