Armchair scraped back as to be
a full on horizontal plane,
those cushions plump,
that bowl of snacks overflowing
and gallon of drink carving
out a niche by the foot of comfort.

The spot, THE spot, for the next
ten hours, yes, a full on work day
and a bit, of being
the chillest,
illest,
sickest,
badest,
nonchalantest,
skateboarding without the deck,
on another level of existence
where stress cannot form,
zenman of the ages.

That is the plan,
with the sustenance
and the squishy plushy material
underneath, cradling a body that
aches in every skin cell,
where time has conspired to
render all organs as only just
finishing a triple shift at the
hospital, and all the paperwork
that might entail.

This is earned, for sure, for all
the times that hours slipped past
an allotted ‘yes’ into the ‘who
do you think is going to reward?’
So do nothing, except focus
on that block of nothing
but you, entertainment, delicious
treats, and the warmth of zero.