Thursday, February 5, 2009

The Slow Season, But Cold.

“It looks like
Summer’s come early
This year,” I mumbled,
Through silver smoke
I can’t discern from
My breath in the cold,
By sub-arctic dumpsters
Behind the mall-attached
Restaurant I work in,
As a coworker and I
Smoked frigid boredom,
Waiting for tables that
Wouldn’t come, reflecting
How similar, though brittle,
It was, to the warmer
Season, the one we expected
To be this very quiet and still.

While waiting to find out where I head next for, I work in a restaurant that's attached to a shopping mall. Summers are always slow. Last year, this month was still smack in the middle of our busy-season, which didn't end until long after the snow had melted. The last couple of weeks have felt like the summer, in terms of business. I've been trying to put off writing about the current economic situation that we're all grappling with for as long as possible (mostly because I hadn't completely made up my mind if the issue had already been over-tread by the media and blogosphere-at-large, or if the attention has been, and is, warranted because of the all-encompassing nature of the changes in our social-climate). I've had alot of time lately to think about how and why people aren't spending money, while standing around waiting for them to come through our doors and spend the money that, in turn, allows me to spend money. The poem above is a brief musing I jotted down while sitting by the dumpster, grabbing some polluted air... I post it less because of my pride in how it turned out, and more because I felt that it worked as a fitting preface-piece to my next entry, which will feature some musings about the place and potential of arts and ideas in times of economic recession.

Stay tuned.

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