Weathering Work

A short poem on unwanted work.

I sit

at my desk

as a river bank by a river.

There.

More or less permanent,

in relative terms;

slowly shaped

and eroded

by all that passes.

Thinking it channels

all that passes, but

instead shaped by it.

With no real control

over where it goes

or

over how polluted it is.

Soil, rock, detritus,

and dissolved material,

taken from place

to another,

by its murky,

sediment-laden waters.