(a postcard poem)
Assistant reconnects dying desktop
so I can migrate data. I make $43.
Break even, marking a better day than most.
Listen to memoir of trans
woman's childhood, adolescence, adulthood-
self finding era by era .Dare to
wonder if I will ever be that brave in telling
my own story.
Tomorrow, I have a fund raising e-mail to write,
and a Verizon to picket as part of partnership
with Jobs with Justice.
I take my “I'll be there five times a year”
in service to justice very seriously;
After all, I've called on that network
more than a few times myself.
My plans are a chagrin to my layabout assistant
who wants to nothing more than lay about on a Sunday morning.
But she knows that giving up a chance
to give corporate big wigs what for
is never on going to be on my agenda
and opts not to argue the point.