Variations on the word Stress

I. The Order of Things

7 in the morning, you crawl your way out
From the gravitational pull of your bed.
Half an hour later, you are facing the biggest decision
in your life: to order something from McDonalds.
Minutes later, you are trying to get yourself together again or
Atleast become particular with your quarter pounder;
that person in charge with the burgers cannot seem
To make the ketchup and mustard make love with harmony
And rhythm between your innocent buns.
Now, the lettuce bothers you;
let us just say we want it perfectly placed, not
like some drunk man sleeping like a pretzel at the gutter;
it has to be perfectly aligned, perfectly justified
just like the format of the Word files that require
A huge amount of decibel from your boss, for you to finally get it right
After crossing the margin of error for months already.
You look around and realize that you are not alone.
Then the thought of becoming a child again jolts you,
Who knew life would be so meaningful by simply folding papers
Into fighter jets and battleships, and be bombarded with happiness.
Now, you find yourself tethered to the obligations you chose not think of
While you are at the peak of your teenage days: conquering the beer tower,
Kissing nameless women here and there, harvesting bad grades every semester
But that is okay because it is not your money anyway.
Then you find your precious burger on the floor
Everything is scattered, splattered, and smeared right in front of you,
You and the burger have something in common,
You realize how much of a mess you are.
You now find yourself chasing your precious working time
Because late means pay deduction, but already, even before
you pluck your Attendance card, your mind is already set to your shift’s end.
Only the Bundy clock awaits for your departure, always ready to be fed
With your dedication and your projected passion during the interview.
Now watch it spit your hourly worth in return.

II. Pushcart blues

Aisle after aisle, rummaging for life
“Free Taste!” cries the lady on a stall
in the supermarket

On her tray, a clubhouse sandwich barely a bite

On the other, shot glasses of new chocolate drink in town.
Only it awakens the monster in your body, shouting
More, more, and nothing more.

Aisle after aisle,

people around you become spectral images
At the counter, unloading you have no idea why
You won a 500 mL bottle of Tresseme shampoo.

Who knew that there are things

that you can get for free?

III. After (someone else’s “constructive insights” about) work

In this setting, people grow old but nobody grows up.
Everyday, we go home with multiple stab wounds
mostly on our back, sometimes, if unlucky,
we go home with the knife stuck on our flesh that
Not even our love ones would dare pull it out; when
they do, understand that it does not bleed and
we have no other choice but to shrug the wound off
with a smile the next day—a smile so real, happiness
becomes an understatement.
Ah, what better way of saying you are okay!
Oh, what better way of saying you are just fine!
Once, or twice, or thrice, a week, we go home with new names,
mostly names that our parents would resort to war upon hearing
when we are still in the elementary.

A job well done or fucked up, you will earn a wound

and different names quicker than the 15-day wait
for each pay day and I could have sworn that
we have hanged ourselves with our necktie
Since Day 1.

Ah, what better way of saying you are okay!

Oh, what better way of saying you are just fine!