Post by Bobby Slais on Dec 16, 2007 8:58:18 GMT -5
I head outside for a smoke, killing time
trying to minute away seconds from work’s furious wind,
the rush of emails, paper reports, faxes, and phone calls.
In front of me, a commotion, broken leaves and debris,
scraps of paper, twigs, and golden pine needles
swirl around on the thin strip of concrete driveway
leading into the loading dock. They tumble on in
from around the building corner, an unseen twirling force
pulls them into this vortex. It’s a bizarre confusion
with an appealing, somewhat mesmerizing beauty
as they topple and dance like puppets on strings,
at times almost being set free, being sucked back in
spinning into the mix again. They are being forced to work
by something they cannot control. In the center of it all,
a brownish clump of dampness, compressed by last night’s rain
unmoving, not affected by the howling as if they just don’t care,
like dead weight co-workers. The rest continue to move
in their taunting and repeating pattern, around, in and out,
and around again. I almost feel sorry for them. They are trapped.
Content with the bit of fresh air I have taken in, I weave my way back
toward my place, hitting the fax machine on my way by,
picking up some printed copies, answering a coworkers question.
Finally turning the corner into my cube, I notice it,
one leaf clinging onto the cuff of my black dress pants.
I pluck it off, setting it free and place it on my desk.
We both sit still for a brief moment
and let the world spin around us.
Bobby 2007
trying to minute away seconds from work’s furious wind,
the rush of emails, paper reports, faxes, and phone calls.
In front of me, a commotion, broken leaves and debris,
scraps of paper, twigs, and golden pine needles
swirl around on the thin strip of concrete driveway
leading into the loading dock. They tumble on in
from around the building corner, an unseen twirling force
pulls them into this vortex. It’s a bizarre confusion
with an appealing, somewhat mesmerizing beauty
as they topple and dance like puppets on strings,
at times almost being set free, being sucked back in
spinning into the mix again. They are being forced to work
by something they cannot control. In the center of it all,
a brownish clump of dampness, compressed by last night’s rain
unmoving, not affected by the howling as if they just don’t care,
like dead weight co-workers. The rest continue to move
in their taunting and repeating pattern, around, in and out,
and around again. I almost feel sorry for them. They are trapped.
Content with the bit of fresh air I have taken in, I weave my way back
toward my place, hitting the fax machine on my way by,
picking up some printed copies, answering a coworkers question.
Finally turning the corner into my cube, I notice it,
one leaf clinging onto the cuff of my black dress pants.
I pluck it off, setting it free and place it on my desk.
We both sit still for a brief moment
and let the world spin around us.
Bobby 2007