The Weekend

Monday morning

I pull in to my spot,

the secretary

who parks next to me 

is sitting in her car. 

She's good at her job, 

organized and efficient,

parks straight.

She opens her door 

just as I exit mine,

and emerges slowly, unfolds

as if from a cocoon.

How was your weekend?

I ask, noticing right away

something is wrong.

I hurt my foot, she says,

was propped up all weekend, 

got nothing done.

She steps out daintily,

stands off-kilter for a moment,

then begins to hobble,

one foot en pointe

light as a ballet dancer's,

the other planted to the ground.

We walk together

awkwardly syncopated

I struggle to match her 

up and down tempo

and she feels it.

You go on ahead, she says,

I can't walk any faster. 

But I don't, I stay with her,

and don't ask how it happened,

the details don't matter.

Instead, I think 

of all the injustices

in the world

the inequalities, 

the homelessness and hunger.

I hope you had someone 

to cook for you this weekend

I say, in jest.

No, she says,

no one loves me,

and laughs.

How about you, she asks,

her voice weakened, 

the effort apparent as she works

to make conversation, 

how was your weekend?

Watched the big game, I answer,

on TV, 

my mind conjuring the image

of oversized brutes in battle gear

pounding each other repeatedly

ritualistically

to gain chalk-marked ground 

toward an endzone.

I see the hordes in the stands

in their colourful numbered jerseys,

fists raised,

waving banners with insignias, 

the chaotic hollering and hunger 

as if something important 

had to happen, something 

wanted desperately, 

some even praying for it,

a touchdown.

I hold the office door open

for my limping co-worker

to begin our workday

watch it squeeze shut gradually 

behind us as we enter,

and my arms 

suddenly feel weightless as wings,

my heart flutters and fills with warmth

for all the stupid people

and their misplaced passion,

all the love in the world 

stored away

waiting to be unlocked 

and ignited with a match 

like a room full of TNT.