as such old things are wont
(being easy off, but troubled on),
and I would have no sympathy,
but the fact that yesterday
was work again, and I felt
The door handle needs jimmied, now,
and muscle memory takes over.
I'd say I'm off to see the wizard, but no,
I know how that ended, so I'm off
to see less mundane people:
Frederick, who bubbled like a cauldron
at the top from the heat, and who was a
man of many words, most of them variations
of "fuck you and your kind."
The Crane Lady, queen of cross-country
trucking, and who lived up to her name,
and was looking for someone else.
Sir Jim, the planar, whose square jaw rattled
in his dodecahedron head as he quizzed me
on the proper flow and chart.
The Forgettable, lady from HR, and lands
of other two- and three-letter acronyms.
She was there because the man behind
the curtains couldn’t make it.
The sharks, a small pack, teeth ready to cut co-
ordinated, luring with angler-fish dangles,
promises of easy pay and flexible hours.
A small step from the car later
and I realize I am not wearing a hard hat
with my dress shirt and khaki,
and I feel naked before an uncertain future.
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