Training day high

I write this in a Richmond airport,
in the supreme void state,
after a training.

How lovely this state is,
especially for an HQ employee.
Away, for once, in the field.

For the next few hours, nothing matters.
I left it, all on the field.
And it went well.
And they didn't buy.

But who cares?
Who cares?

My body is spent,
my blood viscous from dehydration,
my voice from unsupported wah-wah roleplay sounds
hoarse, artificially deeper.
Fried.

I binge-ate hummus in a Food Lion parking lot.
And guilt-free.
Guilt-free, I say.
Screw the post-report.
Till tomorrow.

Ha! Life is joyously dead to me.

On training days we do our part,
expending ourselves so sufficiently
on our eight-hour monologue
not even God could ask more of us.

Like a hospice bed I lie here contented,
unanticipating of the future,
moored in the refuge of the now.
Serenely, myopic.

I hope in your travels you have stayed healthy,
and at times like these
I hope you have enjoyed the privilege
of a well-earned bucket.

Ride that wave,
for by the time you land
tomorrow will have already been today.