chained to the man

your job

is hard, he tells me.

don't you miss the office.

your coat and tie.

happy hour

and volleyball on

Wednesdays.

i don't know how you do it.

climbing ladders,

being on your feet all day.

buckets of paint,

rollers and brushes.

spackling,

caulking, laying

wallpaper,

up and down, across

with your tools.

your knives.

your scissors clicking

endlessly

getting the patterns right.

keeping the floor

clean.

it is hard,

i tell him.

but the other life was

a prison cell.

my cubicle

next to yours watching

the slow clock

on white wall.

changed to the man.

escaping that was nothing

less than a miracle.