Death by the Numbers

 

As far as he was concerned,

8 to 5 work-a-day the same

was a shameful waste of time.

Oh, there was the cost of

living, the rent, the food,

clothing and bills to be paid.

He had financial commitments

and responsibilities to self,

family and community. He was

traditionally raised that way.

But he came to realize, there

had to be more to life than this.

The musician had his jazz,

the artist his canvass, the

singer her song, the dancer

made every step count across

the stage. And oh, the poet

and writer had a purpose for

every word which graced

the page.

But he frittered his time of day

away at the office, chained to

a desk, imprisoned in a six by

five foot cubical, sorting

through numbers, boring and

repetitive numbers which in

the big picture scheme of

things for him meant abso-

lutely nothing, nada, zero,

zilch!

So, in the name of sanity,

he fiddled minimally with

the numbers which he was

assigned, and he began to

draw.

He loved cartoons,

saw a silly and sarcastically

whimsical way of portraying

himself, his bosses and co-

workers blundering their way

through their boring and mun-

dane days.

Had he ever been

caught in his extracurricular

activities, surely he would be

relieved of his duties. That

would be fine by him. Better

to have gone down in flames

than to dehydrate in place from

the tedium of dry numbers as

a cold granite headstone piled

atop his grave.

Say, come to

think of it, he mused to himself,

that might make a pretty good

cartoon—Famous Last Words…

Death by the Numbers—1,2, 3,

Someone please shoot me. 

(And they did.)

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 1-24-2023