Overworked Secretary - A Villanelle

I’ll go to the creek. It’s time to play.
I’m a young freckled face. My chores
are done. I’ll leave, (if I may).

But I’m at the office, another day.
I hate this paperwork like a chore
during the sun, when it’s time to play.

Out the window, kids laugh as they obey
rules of kickball, baseball, the red rover
line dance. Inside I request a break, (if I may).

As I type, as I tap, nail polish chips away.
My neck is tight and my back is arched over.
The freckles gone, I never ask for time to play.

Nighttime is falling and I challenge it when I say,
Play my game! I’ll finish this job before
the sun falls. And then to sleep I’ll fall, (if I may).

Out of the office, I drive to the creek’s bay
where I sit Indian style by my childhood shore.
I talk to the creek, tell her it’s time to play.
And I’ll have my freckles back, (if I may).