It’s Not a Play, It’s Real Life

I wrote several poems during the time I spent camping out at my husband’s office in March and April. There was a lot to take in. I haven’t worked in an office in 20 years. Some things are just as they were then and others, quite different. It was interesting to be an outsider in the office – everyone went about their tasks all around me, almost as if I were invisible. I felt as if I were in the audience at a long-running serial story having just come in for a few episodes and therefore needing to pick up the storylines!

This poem is my own memories and feelings from the past superimposed on what I observed – that’s how I think of it.

Office Music

Pleasant irregular sound
that jackhammer on the street.
A lullaby for us workers
up here on floor twenty-one
at our standard office desks
working our standard office equipment
thinking standard office thoughts
The random staccato of the jackhammer
No jolt to it at all
up here on floor twenty-one
No, that sensation
is reserved for the gentle tones of the telephone
the polite little voice it uses
when it summons us to attend
– we do have no choice –
to whatever it is it wants
and fix it

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