Post by keltinae on Dec 2, 2009 16:28:27 GMT -8
Twelve of them would do it,
Each uniformed in a language
Rich and foreign with mystique.
They cannot speak only eyes follow orders,
They keep in line for fear of separation.
Of course they differ in size that was my intention,
Their suitcases had personalities they quickly forgot.
The nature of the work quickly creased them into order
Without being told they are driven to excel
I trained them well.
When they applied I made sure they had talents,
One was flexible, the other expressive with a wandering eye,
Another catered parties with different faces as plates.
One collected receipts she memorized, another knew theories,
One could dance, cook and seduce men she wouldn’t keep,
Another counted sheep in ten languages.
Day after day they worship labor, it is enough for them.
They have lunch back against back chewing and listening,
To the crunching of leaves,
I watch them swallowing in the cold
And I’m reminded of myself before, at their age.
It has changed lives,
It dampens and dries like the rues of Paris,
Singles rush home to be at its side,
Its steel has no temper numbness or fatigue,
I’ve seen replicas in Africa and Iran,
But we are simply in our own league.
They lack the charm of the twelve I know,
Like months in a year,
Creating my fortune.
When they are home at the stove,
Memories seethe and ache like incense,
Each curls into a different corner for solace,
One with a cushion from home, another sprays old men’s cologne,
Each is a compass unconsciously biased
To a direction they miss but conceal.
Each uniformed in a language
Rich and foreign with mystique.
They cannot speak only eyes follow orders,
They keep in line for fear of separation.
Of course they differ in size that was my intention,
Their suitcases had personalities they quickly forgot.
The nature of the work quickly creased them into order
Without being told they are driven to excel
I trained them well.
When they applied I made sure they had talents,
One was flexible, the other expressive with a wandering eye,
Another catered parties with different faces as plates.
One collected receipts she memorized, another knew theories,
One could dance, cook and seduce men she wouldn’t keep,
Another counted sheep in ten languages.
Day after day they worship labor, it is enough for them.
They have lunch back against back chewing and listening,
To the crunching of leaves,
I watch them swallowing in the cold
And I’m reminded of myself before, at their age.
It has changed lives,
It dampens and dries like the rues of Paris,
Singles rush home to be at its side,
Its steel has no temper numbness or fatigue,
I’ve seen replicas in Africa and Iran,
But we are simply in our own league.
They lack the charm of the twelve I know,
Like months in a year,
Creating my fortune.
When they are home at the stove,
Memories seethe and ache like incense,
Each curls into a different corner for solace,
One with a cushion from home, another sprays old men’s cologne,
Each is a compass unconsciously biased
To a direction they miss but conceal.
