Getting Through The Day Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[for Thomas Merton]

melodious the patriarchs we revered
disappearing into corners of the break rooms
where we hid their scripts

from the this and that
of the things we ought to say
when being evaluated for

the 15th time that day
but in our heads auld chants
we played and roundelays

all rose bright and with marigolds entwined
when sorting out the twine from the nails
and listening for the sound of the rails

beyond the vending machines implore.
the endless stream roved on
beneath it all...

in winter working in the drafty halls
inured to everything till Spring
or the bookstores opened

up like pirate treasure
in the Malls, or metro stops galore
paid for, by the way

with temporary employment
living in a postage stamp apartment
where we hoarded up

the eternities; the memories of God.

mary angela douglas 7 august 2016