One of my college instructors used to say that a social worker’s goal should be to put themselves out of the job.

So tell me…

When do I receive my severance?

At what point can I leave with my head held high?

Is it when the last hungry mouth is fed?

Or when no one is condemned to sleep on the cold, damp sidewalk?

Is it when the substance user finds security rather than scrutiny?

Or when a mental health crisis is no longer a death sentence?

Is it when homeless youth are safe and sound?

Or when a badge can no longer kick tents with impunity?

Is it when the politicians can blame no one but themselves?

Or when we no longer prioritize the needs of the wealthy?

Is it when homes are built for living rather than profit?

Or when we stop debating the value of our neighbour?

Questions remain

Unsatisfying answers obscured by endless excuses

Still…

I wait for a sign

A signal that we have won

A glimpse of a healthy, generous, and productive world long deserved

A vision that seems too far to touch

Yet I continue to reach for the impossible

Until then, I will serve you at the front

A care package here

A gentle hand there

And a fire within