Livelihood
Craig Kirchner
He lived progressively in the future,
anticipating the next to minutia,
planned tomorrows like he was
making the movie - including gestures,
shoes, shirts and ties, ad-libs.
He was meticulous, self-absorbed,
got ahead, was moved inside,
given the strategist’s office –
expected to be months and years out,
to the practical exclusion of now.
His sessions of foresight began to blend,
like the cream in his coffee,
one into the other –
the phone ceased to ring,
he was not to be bothered.
He was formulating his speech for
the budget meeting to be given at
the end of the next five-year plan,
envisioned announcing, an hour in,
that the committee take a short break.
With a nonchalant nuance and a click
of the pen, headed precisely for some
future men’s room, straightened his yellow
polka-dot tie, and palmed
what felt oddly, like dirty water, on his face.
The rest of the meeting progressed
through plan, except for the flies
he had to keep brushing from his lips
and that made him feel,
queerly out of control.
He was not overly concerned, however,
there weren’t the usual tough questions,
everyone round the mahogany conference table,
seemed to have their heads,
bowed in deep respect.
MARCH 2026
Craig Kirchner
He lived progressively in the future,
anticipating the next to minutia,
planned tomorrows like he was
making the movie - including gestures,
shoes, shirts and ties, ad-libs.
He was meticulous, self-absorbed,
got ahead, was moved inside,
given the strategist’s office –
expected to be months and years out,
to the practical exclusion of now.
His sessions of foresight began to blend,
like the cream in his coffee,
one into the other –
the phone ceased to ring,
he was not to be bothered.
He was formulating his speech for
the budget meeting to be given at
the end of the next five-year plan,
envisioned announcing, an hour in,
that the committee take a short break.
With a nonchalant nuance and a click
of the pen, headed precisely for some
future men’s room, straightened his yellow
polka-dot tie, and palmed
what felt oddly, like dirty water, on his face.
The rest of the meeting progressed
through plan, except for the flies
he had to keep brushing from his lips
and that made him feel,
queerly out of control.
He was not overly concerned, however,
there weren’t the usual tough questions,
everyone round the mahogany conference table,
seemed to have their heads,
bowed in deep respect.
MARCH 2026
