Ace Boggess
“WHAT IS YOUR IDLE JOB?”
—question (with typo) in a mass email’s subject line
I wait for lunchtime at my desk, spinning
like a boy in a barber’s chair. Come noon, a walk
past pretty girls in flowered clothing, faces blooming
from sunlight’s brownish blush. I sit awhile,
lotus-like beneath a shadowy willow, breathe smells
of cut grass, melting chocolate.
I feed squirrels, sing love songs to pigeons,
watching as they bob their heads in rhythm.
Then it’s back to the office for coffee
tasting like gasoline, maybe a doughnut on the sly.
If my boss pops over, checking my progress,
I greet him with a good-natured pat on the back
to wipe the sticky glaze from my fingertips. After,
it’s time for all the important tasks: I shuffle
blank pages, transfer calls to disconnected numbers.
I wink at my window-reflection. I liaise. Mostly,
I deal with people come looking for me.
I give directions, always surprised if they reappear,
winded & flushed, to ask me where I am.
–from Rattle #23, Spring 2005
Tribute to Lawyer Poets
October 5th, 2009 at 2:31 am
I have this job, a simple bill payer, give them 8 hours and they pay my mortgage. I’m sorry for you, but happy that you have poetry outside of the office. And are you like me and sneak write while no one is looking?