Sputterpub's Blog

My first financial district job, the work
was varied – words and figures I’d produce.
But my direct employer was a jerk
who never taught me anything of use.
He wasn’t smart, and he was WASPY white,
a weak and boring sexist with a knack
for sneaky sales and budgets sorely tight.
I worked and left and rarely harkened back.

The only thing he ever said to me
that I’ve retained and valued since that turn:
“You aren’t spurred by power, love, money –
you’re rare – what motivates you is to learn.”
The man was right. It’s not what most expect.
I dearly love to learn I’m incorrect.

Be Fruitful, bids the Biblical command,
and Multiply. There’s little to discuss.
Though Aramaic’s hard, we understand
the order is for propagating us.
But that was written in a time and land
that needed places to be populous.
We’re crowded. We no longer dwell on sand.
We’ve even superceded blunderbuss.

Perpetuation of productive thought
may now be more significant than genes.
I’ve known a few of either sex who brought
no babes to birth but got what labor means.
And sadly more whose time was destitute:
they may have reproduced, but bore no fruit.

“What’s there to do? I’m bored,” I would complain
to Mom when I was young enough to ask.
“Go hit your head,” was her bizarre refrain,
“against the wall.” I’d find myself a task.
For I avoided boredom like a curse –
inventing selfish games as need arose.
Besides depression, nothing could be worse,
I figured, born immune to grievous lows.

The boredom lessened as my years increased
(so time alive shrinks every quality),
but my exasperation hasn’t ceased
with droning friends and banal family.
My mates were dull – my custom was rebuff.
You’re boring too, but you I love enough.