Labour Day

A labour day; yeah I know you
spell it the lazy way – ‘labor’ in
your sense means the same, an
Historical accident legitimates
in May the right to celebrate a
movement. Whether an 8 hour
day or bitter respect for workers’
rights, it’s the same trite and
meaningless festival in panoply
of larger schemes.

I’m being arbitrary because it
seems I’ve had too much wine –
effects of a day off work you’d
say but reality says no. I didn’t
get one. Worked my ass off as
needs must, but not just to be
able to say the holiday stinks.

While I reject categorization in
the genre of an employee it isn’t
demeaning, I am a worker after
my own reasoning and my own
ends – I work for me. But I think
there’s an irony in this thing; I’m
not part of the movement and it
doesn’t move me, but it seems
to legitimate a disingenuous party
for effete, self-elected leadership.
© 6 May 2008, I. D. Carswell