Awkward twisting, squirming out of surrender.
Don't give up so easy.
Strain, sweat searing of desire,
dreams a melting sticky sweet,
Tug o' war with necessity.
Knashing at time
Gnawing of oral tradition.
***
Catching the bus, a little late a little too common place. Skirt needs shifting, one more button to go, coffee forgotten. Once her breath is caught she looks around at the staring patrons. They must be somewhere else where there is no smell of urine and something shinier and more singular guides them to work. She recedes to her own version of reality. Her's is one of a bigger place; office, apartment, car, shopping list, dating pool...family. The sun shines bravely
through the unloved bus windows and a foggy light illuminates her face. At the next stop an older lady with a market basket bumps down the steps and releases a seat for her. Steady, as the bus takes off she claims the seat and she feels that she is getting what she paid for. Knowing the office is 6 stops away she takes a few deeper sighs and releases some of the knots that her job creates because it is still 24 minutes away. She thinks back to yesterday; performace review day.
It's not that she doesn't care about her job or how well she does it. But something keeps putting its foot in the door as she tries to shut out distraction. Maybe she is allowing the foots intrusion. Maybe she doesnt want continuity. Yet she recieved a mediocre judgement, another pale comparison. It made her wince that a man that wears mostly brown and combed over a bald spot in a hopeless attempt at salvation was the one that was telling her she was commonplace, average. Yet there it was on the yellow form infront of her out of 7, two 3's in productivity and timeliness, one 4 in organization and a 5 in professionalism. The numbers seemed to bounce around her head the night after and wouldnt leave her alone. She snapped oper her eyes and noticed immediatly that she had passed the exit and jumped from her brown bench. Shit