I Do Too Much (A Sestina)

Posted a link to a great collection of Sestinas a little while back. Thought I might as well write one.  Wrote two. Here's one. Before you read it, you might want to check the rules of Sestina form, so you catch what's actually going on. Next one tomorrow-ish. Needs a once-over.

Sestina: I Do Too Much

These days I dream only of sleep

While I am trapped, awake, at work

It’s not that I despise my job

But that I work until I drop.

Obsession’s not the same as love:

I need to learn to say “no.”

It doesn’t matter what you know;

It only matters where you sleep

At night, who gives you all their love.

We might still make this whole thing work.

What kills is not the life-long drop:

It’s the landing that does the job.

Assume that teaching is my job:

We can assume that part of my job is teaching. “No

Child left behind,” save those that drop

Off the wagon, preferring sleep

To learning. You know best what works

To get you what you most love,

I suppose. But what if they love

Their ignorance? Is it my job

To kick their asses, make them work?

And if I, lazy, accept “no”

As an answer, will I still sleep

As our standardized test scores drop?

In my nightmares I watch things drop.

It is not duty dressed as love

That haunts me when I fail to sleep,

But the nagging sense that this job

Is hopeless; that there can be no

End to the damned and draining work

Required. What might drive them to work?

As our standard of living drops

Will our ambition rise? It’s no

Reflection on school. Those who love

To learn, will. For the rest, those jobs

Where boredom lulls them sweet to sleep.

I cannot sleep. There is work to do.

No tears. Not one drop. Let’s face it:

I love this stupid job.