My door at work

opens

“I told you to schedule that meeting last year!” She screamed.

“We are still within our timelines,” I said calmly.

Her face is red. She is shaking.

Another woman walks in. This one has more charm.

“We have a situation,” she said.

“Yes?”

“We had a student go ballistic on the bus. You were supposed to schedule that meeting already.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a top priority.”

“Can we schedule it now?”

“In a week,” I said.

They think I like to play God, but even He gets bored.

When God couldn’t think of anything else to do

He created this mess, we call a universe

with a bang

It’s full of gas and people.

I close the door

to my world

and think about

what I want to create.

You will suffocate,

if you try to breathe the same air

as teachers,

because they constantly tell children what to do

and when they look at you

guess what they see?

Someone who needs instruction.

What does a lawyer see? Loop-holes.

What does a dentist see? Cavities.

What does a plumber see? Shit.

What do I see? People who conform to the expectations of their work.

Work will change you, so you should be mindful of who you become.

Someone

unwilling to be molded

is useless to society.

He’s a bum

or a God. I see him

on the street

with long hair, like Jesus

Is he?

He claims to be the returned savior.

How do I know

Yes, or No?

I give him a quarter

just in case.

Then I think about

my creative space.

My door at work

opens again

“You’re a writer!?” She asks.

The word has gotten out. I posted a publication on Facebook.

This is the woman who is getting a second Master’s degree

to compete with me.

I wonder what people see, when they size me up?

Then they find something they can’t measure.

I don’t play

to be better.

I do it for pleasure.

The reason why they are miserable

is they don’t shut the gas out

They breath it in.

In fact,

they can’t tell the difference

between flatulence

and breathable air.

I don’t care

I just look for a tiny room

to be alone.