Improvements

A reaction to my noisy environment on a Wednesday morning....... a morning which began with reflections upon a purely literary character and not someone real.............

I do not know the word for the noise that drills make.
I do not like the dentist's drill.
And I do not like the noise of the drill in the apartment above or below me,
I can't tell which,
and I do not consider this a gift,
but rather,
as the assertion of the Sovereign Right of Property,
to destroy and disrupt, to damage and to wound,
all in the name of a higher value,
which includes me not at all.

 

 

We live our days under the illusion of freedom,

as if things were normal,
until one day,
the Owner of the building where you live
Or The Manager who acts in his interests,
decides and declares

that

"Improvements” will begin.

And the workmen come,

and they shout and laugh,

and bang and hammer,

and knock things about,

as if this were a joyful orgy of noise.

 

But why are you surprised?

No one works at home!

What could you possibly be doing there?

How could you possibly need quiet?

Work means noise and following orders!

And Improvements come in a variety of shapes and colors:

You can have a job,

until the boss comes,

and tells you that you've got no job,

unless,

and here he scrapes his foot and gets uncomfortable,

suggesting  you really wouldn't want this,

but he's got to mention it,

although if you really wouldn't want it,
unless you'd like to throw an old dog a bone,
But,

why is he mentioning it then,
if he knows you really wouldn't want it?

--Well, go ahead,
and say it,
you think,
And he mentions it anyway---

Unless, perhaps, he says,

you'd like to work at one-third or one-fourth

the salary you had before,

while doing the same work.

And all this time,

his bad news does not quite register with you,

and you've lost any sort of capacity to think,

because you merely register his words,

and cannot really react,

until you decide that it's better to leave this job,

and this country,

if that's the way they treat you.

And all that time,

you may have not even thought,

but merely presupposed,

--somehow believed without ever actually forming the words--

that somehow,

this life,

such as it is,

warts and all,

would continue.

But you were wrong.

 

The workmen will pound and bang until they have satisfied their master,

and you will listen to them because you have no place else to go,

But later you will bang away silently at some problem or other,

or you will bump down the stairs with some other version of what's left of life,

 

And you will pretend that somehow something here is worth continuing,

and you will try to find it before Improvements come with their hammers,

and bang it, and break it, and replace it

with something more pleasing to our masters.