John Hay Poem

I always see you walk home when a cab I take.

You and your colleagues talk of GSIS over that thin steak.

Then I see you in your office, head bent on papers, the red pen

Moving to and fro. You glance up now and then.

Now in this breezy, comfy place I see you again

In my mind’s eye: you’re at home, reading, then

Your little girl asks help for her homework. A meal

Is to be cooked for supper. Work doesn’t stop for real,

Not even away from that four-walled room. You punch

The calculator: bills, food, loans. Paycheck not enough.

You’ve got lots on your plate, yet you

Teach with energy and passion, easy as the old one-two.

To think that I sometimes clench my fists silently

Because of your rules and requirements. How silly

Of me to miss that when I’m done, I’m done. No need

To think of ways to make tomorrow colourful. Indeed

I sometimes see things only through my eyes.

I miss it: your path, it’s a life of sacrifice.

I’m sorry for sometimes thinking crap and not being nice.