He who always sits with you, and who gazes
at you, and who hears you so sweetly laughing,
seems to me to equal a god, and sometimes
even surpass one -
if a thing like that is all right to say. What
misery! This rips away all my senses.
When I see you, Lesbia, I am tongue tied.
Words seem to fail.
Flames run through my body, and down my limbs. My
two ears ring and buzz, and my eyes now fail me,
covered, as they are, with a blinding darkness
blacker than midnight.
Once in a while, when I think how boring it is in my dreary
office, I look in my drawer; something reminds me of you:
copper colored hair, wound up in a tight little ball - a
part of you in my desk. Happier thoughts fill my mind.
Nobody knows what I do. My job is not noticed by nosy
bosses who watch over all. Nobody knows what I do.
Decoys abound on my desk - some stacks of paper to make it
look like I'm working hard. Decoys abound on my desk.
Seldom do I get a call. My phone just sits there in blessed
silence for most of the day. Seldom do I get a call.
On the computer I play, since a modem allows me to access
other computers from work. On the computer I play.
Poems take up some of my time, as it takes hard work to perfect the
various meters and rhyme. Poems take up some of my time.
Food takes my mind off of work, and I spend lots of time in the kitchen
getting a snack or a drink. Food takes my mind off of work.
quitting time comes, and I'm gone in a flash, bolting out of the door. I
clear out as fast as I can. Quitting time comes, and I'm gone.
Bank of America pays you to ask those in line if they have a
simple transaction to do. I have no problem with that.
Grilling the customer, though...that starts to get very annoying.
"No, thank you" should be enough. After that, leave me alone.
After I rise from my soft warm
bed, and I drive off to work, a
cot would be nice there. My shiny
desk could be used to conceal the
evidence. When I would start to
feel I was falling asleep, I'd
go to my cot's secret drawer and
hurriedly open it up. Then
into the cot I would jump with
joy. No one out in the hall would
know that inside of the room I
lie, sleeping peacefully, and my
mind would be freed from the nagging
noise that disturbs it all day. The
others would not even note my
presence, or lack thereof, as I
quietly made up for all the
rest that I'd lost from a lack of
sleep. They go on with the daily
toil, while I snooze and I curl up
under a blanket. They can not
view me, for there is no clear, glass
window to see through. They'd need an
x-ray to see through the door. I
yearn for a world where my work day
zoomed by, as I lie there sleeping.
Lament On Moving to a New Size of Levi's
In jeans, a twenty-seven/thirty-six
once fit; but that was long ago. Then, soon,
I buttoned up a twenty-eight - and those
I wore for quite some time. Then twenty-nine
became the size I used for days on end.
It seems that as the years went by my stay
at each successive size was shorter than
the last; but then I managed for a while
to stanch the growth at waist size thirty-three.
I held there for a decent span of days,
but buttons burst, and could no longer hold
me in. Now, though the length remains the same
at thirty-six, the waist continues on
its outward march; and I now have to buy
my Levi 501s in thirty-four.
The internet is out; and, so it seems,
the office is without a saving grace.
The time that I would spend in fertile surfing
now goes to waste. I wonder what we did
in those dark days before we were online.
I used to work with many crews of guys
who filled the idle time with playing craps,
or pitching coins when bosses were away.
These days, a sterile office is my shop;
and physical delights of yesteryear
have given way to staring at a screen,
with Gore's grand scheme providing many hours
of entertainment. But, alas, it's out.
On the Lookout
"To sit all day and always be prepared
for any boss or dark authority
to suddenly appear around the corner
and break the spell of blissful privacy
I've worked so hard to build up in this cube",
describes my work day aptly, I dare say.
The constant apprehension sometimes makes
it almost worth my while - though still not quite -
to do some work instead of goofing off.
Perhaps, I'll write to Marilyn on Facebook,
and reminisce about the time we bowled
at All Star Lanes. I kissed her on the mouth
when we were done, and then I left for home,
to wash myself for dinner with the family.
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All poems Copyright © 1996-2011 Ralph Aulenta