Take the Day
The only place I permit myself
to cry is at work, so I can get
paid while crying. When we had that
tragedy and they shut down the building,
telling us TAKE THE DAY,
I wound through the unregenerate
uptown desperate to cry, but also why
would I do it on my own time,
so I waited until I was back on
the clock the next morning.
Nights at home I watch movies where
everyone’s dying — plagues and agues,
spectral miseries. I’ve read about
how, between takes, the make-up artists
spray stinging mint at the actors
to aid in their weeping. This especially
helps in shoots that proceed
out of sequence, where actors get plunked
into aftermaths and ordered
to suddenly sob. That has to be a hard
part of the job. But it can’t be as tough
as when they have to pretend,
amid razor wire and covering
fire, in this rank world of sameness
and shame without end, to be just
so — ! to be just so in love — !