i have this productivity anxiety
that everyone else is working harder than me
and i’m going to be left behind
cause i’m not working fast enough
long enough
and i’m wasting my time
i don’t sit down to have breakfast
i take it to go
i call my mother when i’m free—otherwise
it takes too long to have a conversation
i put off everything that
won’t bring me closer to my dreams
as if the things i’m putting off
are not the dream themselves
isn’t the dream
that i have a mother to call
and a table to eat breakfast at
instead i’m lost in the sick need
to optimize every hour of my day
so i’m improving in some way
making money in some way
advancing my career in some way
because that’s what it takes
to be successful
right
i excavate my life
package it up
sell it to the world
and when they ask for more
i dig through bones
trying to write poems
capitalism got inside my head
and made me think my only value
is how much i produce
for people to consume
capitalism got inside my head
and made me think
i am of worth
as long as i am working
i learned impatience from it
i learned self-doubt from it
learned to plant seeds in the ground
and expect flowers the next day
but magic
doesn’t work like that
magic doesn’t happen
cause i’ve figured out how to
pack more work in a day
magic moves
by the laws of nature
and nature has its own clock
magic happens
when we play
when we escape
daydream and imagine
that’s where everything
with the power to fulfill us
is waiting on its knees for us
- productivity anxiety
we can work
at our own pace
and still be
successful
while i was growing up
my dad worked six days a week
driving an eighteen-wheeler truck
from one end of the continent to the other
he’d come home
after a week on the road
while my siblings and i would be sleeping
the sound of the front door always woke me
the basement we lived in was small
i could hear mom in the kitchen
making him a fresh meal of dal and roti
dad would eat
shower
settle into bed
but as soon as his eyes drifted off
his boss would call and say
get back on the road again
and just like that
we’d catch a glimpse of dad leaving
when you’re an immigrant
you keep your head down and stay working
when you’re a refugee and
you don’t have papers
when they call you illegal
outsider
terrorist
towelhead
you work until your bones become dust
you are the only one you can count on
every time he started at a new company
he’d spend months working for free
during their mandatory “training” period
funny how they needed to train a man
who was fully licensed
qualified
and experienced
after the third month of
not taking a penny home
dad would demand compensation
and they’d offer him
five cents for every mile he drove
years ago while driving a load
from montreal to florida
he ended up at a hospital
somewhere in the middle of america
with his appendix moments away
from bursting
when the doctor told him
they had to get him into surgery immediately
he looked at her and said
i can’t afford it
can this wait until i get back home to canada
when do you get back home the doctor asked
in three days he responded
and she looked at him like he must
be out of his mind
luckily
she didn’t have it in her
to let him risk his life
she performed the surgery for free that night
and you want to know what my dad did
right after they stitched him up
he walked out of the hospital
climbed into his truck
finished the delivery
and spent three days driving back home
why would you put yourself through that i ask
he shrugs his shoulders and tells me
my boss wouldn’t get me a flight home
where would i leave my truck
i couldn’t drive back with a trailer full
of undelivered car parts
and risk losing my job
while listening to him
all i can think is that
no one should have to work to the bone like that
it breaks me into pieces to hear
about every person who grinds
for less than what they’re worth
how do we sleep at night
knowing the systems we uphold
treat the foundations of our society
as second-class citizens