TREINTA MINUTOS, NI UN MINUTO MÁSA
Poem By Jose Posadas
Thirty minutes to strip the shirt off my back, wet from the constant motion of lifting box after box that are spat down the conveyor - a river of iPhone, Xbox, vacuums, and 65-inch screens; packing each box into the back of UPS trucks like a relentless game of Tetris.
Thirty minutes to swallow a cold meat sandwich, as cold as the cavernous warehouse that swallows the forgotten, fringe midnight shift and spits them out at 8 AM only to return later that night for more.
I move faster than boys half my age, to their surprise, I hold my own, despite my heart beating wildly from the frenetic, aerobic pace. I push past the exhaustion, the pain, the fear… the humility.
Thirty minutes to remind myself why I’m here, to prove myself worthy. Prove I shall do anything, undergo any struggle, do whatever I must for a simple check, to care for you and children not mine from a thousand miles away, across a border that separates you from my act of devotion.
Thirty minutes to pull on a new, dry shirt, take one last long drink of Gatorade replacing the fluids I have lost.
Thirty minutes, not one more, I am back on the line, sweat trickles down my cheek like tears, determined that it shall not defeat me.
