Unemployment (1)
By Mark Levine
I had a calling.
I took the call.
It was all I could do to follow the voice streaming into me
Like traffic on the runway where I lay
Down to gather.
I had a calling. I heard the geese bleat
In the firmament as they migrated
Into the jet’s jets.
And could I have foreseen that falling
I could have fallen too
Rather than being sutured to the bottomless
Freeze-out lake.
For it is fine to lie within one’s borrowed blankets
Looking up at the
Dropped ceiling coming down.
For at the moment I am employed counting the holes
In the sound absorbing tiles
Keeping a running record of the interlocutor’s
Chides.
I feel at one with extinction
By my own hand
(Inner hand)
Though once there were many of my kind
Flocking inland, or perhaps
It felt that way.
