On Days I Don't Hate My Job
        after Scott Owens

On days that I don't hate my job, I don't wake up mad
about my interview. I don't interpret the late flight,
wrong turns or blinding highway snow as signs

I should've heeded. I don't remember each illegal
question I was asked and feel ashamed for answering,
don't blame myself for saying yes to less than I expected.

On days that I don't hate my job, I don't crave starch
and alcohol as soon as I arrive. I don't greet
good mornings with replies that exaggerate

my stress, workload, fatigue. I don't repeat rumors
I don't believe or revive tired grievances against
the senior team member who dumps her work on me

and calls it mentoring and everyone who says
that's just her way. I don't suspect she also tracks
my hours, calendar, lunch and bathroom breaks.

On days that I don't hate my job, I don't ask hostile
questions in the guise of helpfulness, don't assume
that new ideas are bound to fail and that the company

is doomed. After meetings, I don't announce I want
my hour back and then review my resume, convinced
I'm losing skills and relevance. I don't resent

the coworkers who left for better jobs or miss those
who were fired and replaced by temps I don't
feel sorry for. I don't forget the higher-ups

whose competence I question also suffer doubts
and fears, moments when they can't believe the shape
their lives have taken. On days that I don't hate

my job, I don't rush for the door at five o'clock,
gulp parking lot exhaust as though I'm starved for air.
I don't rehearse the worst parts of my day as I drive home,

already dreading my return. I don't wonder how much
of my unhappiness is really my job's fault—
if I'm a bad fit for the company, if I've chosen a field

where I just don't belong—or if I'd feel this way
anywhere I worked. I don't worry the real problem is me.

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Copyright © 2019 Carrie Shipers All rights reserved
from Conduit
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission