Robertson in the City
Robertson gets the mail. Robertson opens the package:
A sweater from someplace overseas, heavy, expensive,
Something Robertson could wear around the office
That Janice could ask about & he could say Oh this
Old thing? I don’t remember. This is the way Robertson
plans his interactions. Predictable, controlled, easy.
He drives the same way. The same routine each day,
Order of operations checked off in order to avoid disaster.
Robertson would make a hell of a pilot if he wasn’t afraid
Of flying. Robertson hates the TSA, the invasion of privacy,
His junk on display in the scanner for the underpaid
Security theater officer to judge & shrug & sweep away.
Robertson would rather drive. Here’s Robertson
On the road, miles & miles to go before he sleeps,
Best Westerns & Holiday Inns shimmering in his wake.
Free breakfasts never free, bathrooms never sanitized
Enough for his comfort. He carries an extra pillow &
Blanket in the trunk, checks for bed bugs, asks for extra soap.
Robertson on vacation is Robertson still at work.
He never gives it rest. He’s always on, guard up,
Wary, plugged in. He checks his email. He keeps tabs.
His laptop overheats. On the beach Robertson is silent
In the Slack but reviews the chat. He doesn’t miss a beat.
When he returns tan & unrested he calls the clients back.
Another Tuesday afternoon & Robertson is at his desk
Eating a sad girl salad or instagramable sandwich,
Arguing American Psycho is documentary not satire
With Phil from accounting. The tasteful thickness of it
Clashes with flaccid lettuce. Robertson gets the joke,
Doesn’t laugh. In this economy, what’s so funny? he asks.
Robertson likes clichès; a life played out in aphorisms
Makes it easier not to think. Why think when you can do,
Cut through each day like a hot knife through butter while
Every dog has its day? Nothing personal, it’s just business
Needs to be done since a dollar a day keeps the doctor away.
Robertson gets it. He knows punching clocks cashes checks.
Sometimes Robertson takes walks at lunch. Sometimes it rains.
No umbrella handy, he lets the showers soak through,
Wants to feel something but Robertson walks alone.
Robertson watches squirrels, kicks pigeons. This city will
Kill you, he thinks, this city is beautiful when it rains.
Robertson smokes a cigarette & watches trash float out to sea.