Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Saturday, between novels, at work

I sit in my office,
as do two hundred lawyers
in fifty buildings
in ten suburbs
in my city.

It's a day when the sun
shines down on the just at play
while the unjust sit
in their offices,
drafting documents
to be used to construct
dark, tall buildings
with high tech security systems,
spring flowers trucked in each Monday
placed beautifully in pots, and then
discarded on Friday, their job done.

I will achieve many things,
and in a way wonderful things,
given time, grace, and
a functioning printer,
but for now
I use a search engine
to look up the lyrics to
a song by a band
I don't particularly like,
and try to muddle out
how the words to
"She Sells Sanctuary"
fit the melody in my head.

Outside, men burnish my office building
with water, readying it for
years of additional work.

Someday soon I will have something to read,
and a bright idea,
and song in my heart that is not
about sanctuary,
but now I have billing to do.
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