Sisyphus is a Morning Person

We must imagine that Sisyphus
Looks forward to the Monday sun
That his morning coffee is never too sweet
His microwaved breakfast never too cold
Eager to please, 8 hours of sleep
The dormant pile of emails
Ignites the soul within him

We must imagine that he is employee
of the month, year, millennium
Never taking an unearned break
His mythological productivity, composure
Keeps him upright eight hours
Hands never meeting his head
To dryly stare at the office wall
Biting the inside of his cheek
Allowing the time to carve him out
Until the clock screeches melodically
To 5pm

We must imagine that Sisyphus
Looks forward to the weekly grocery trip
up and down isles, free sample feast
Enjoying the customer journey
to each ingredient, past the deals
That went through four rounds of market testing
He finds a strange peace
in this cathedral to consumption
The warehouse stacked high
With food for the landfill

Unembarrassed at the register
His eye doesn’t twitch
When he sees the total in bright green
Or when he refills the gas tank on the way home
The same pump as always
Number 11, lucky number
Keeping family superstitions
Like a tether back to his soul

We must imagine
That Sisyphus does his laundry on time
That joy is found underneath the dust that gathers
At the edge of his windowsill each week
Purpose
Spelled out in hair on the shower wall
And the margins of his weekly chore chart

We must imagine
That Sisyphus doesn’t mind
The potholes in the road
Or the familiarity of a rocking car
His hands never tap unsteady melodies
on the steering wheel
Nervously picking at the skin of his fingers
Staring at the bug smear
That dirties up his landscape

Instead
We say to ourselves
that he appreciates
the same sunset hundreds of times
Looking out at the familiar colors
One day older with one less eyelash
In love with the boulder
And the ache in his legs

-D.V