Now You Work In Busytown

Good news! You got that job in Busytown —

The one you wanted — asked the mayor for —

Sent your resume (with big clear letters)

from the post office with an airmail stamp,

Then stuck the letter in the letter slot.

Letters are for the letter slot and you

are for Busytown. Busy people go

to Busytown. They have jobs as big and clear

As airmail stamps. You have dreamed of Busytown;

In Busytown they dream of you. They do not dream

of “work,” but there is work to do in dreams.

You had a marvellous dream. Then you were in

A wilderness — where you had never been —

Wist not you where. You looked to the East,

right into the sun, and saw a tower.

Worthy-built, high on a toft, teeming with

creatures, quick as ants, busy as bees, and

rearing a monolith after the flood.

A deep dale beneath, and a dungeon therein.

And a fair field, full of folk, were between.

All manner of, some working, some walking,

As the world asked. Some of them had red spots.

Some ran a grocery store. Some do business

with Farmer Alfalfa. Some were absent

in Busytown Mysteries. Some flew planes.

Some were seven years old. Some were eight. Some

of them had orange spots. Some want to grow up.

Now it is sailing time. Bon voyage!

To dress up like a sailor is to sail.

There is a sign outside of Busytown:

It says, ‘Come to me, all who labor and

are heavy laden.” Congratulations.

You got the job. To want the job is to

get the job. Labor passes away but

work remains, and Busytown is always busy.

Busytown is full of love and thunder.

Here you have been assigned to Huckle Cat.

So now be best friends. Now you are fellow

laborers in Christ. God’s field. God’s building.

All Corinthians, all turned to the wheel,

All Busytown turning. Teach Patrick Pig

to speak. They all really loved you in there.

I’m serious. You got the job. It’s yours.

Do you want to fly the applecopter?

Done. Lowly Worm would step aside for you.

You’ll be the busiest firefighters.

And you’ll explain it to them like they’re five.

Everyone who looks at you will know what

job you do. From now on you look like work.

Everything in Busytown is fit for use.

The mouse works. The pig works. The fox works. The

gasworks. By their work you know them, and in

Busytown folks are worthy of their hire.

They till their land and have plenty of bread.

In Busytown they say they’ll build a tower.

They found a plain in the land of Shinar.

They’ve been saying to each other that they

really ought to make some bricks. Come, let’s make

bricks. Let’s burn the bricks. Let’s make a name and

place a tower with its top in the stars.

You first. Lay the first brick. Let’s carry work

up to the heavens. Let’s show work the face

of God. You got the job. You name it, kid,

and it’s a job, you name the job and then

it’s yours — Come on down. Our labor-prayers

rise up like smoke to God. We use water

to put fires out. What do we do all day.

How do you do? Oh, we keep busy here.

[Image via. Piers Plowman “feeld” passage here]