Office Party
chuckles and chatter
distort into a circus.
the scene could be far worse
than the ordinary, that is,
the automatic weekday sunny-grey
of the i don’t hear you chin nod.
or maybe it’s the same.
another episode of failure
unwitnessing itself.
actors who prove that exiles
die out there somewhere
in soundproof chambers
far too loud with truth.
far too pushy and nosey
with questions of fair pay
and harassment.
all of us, actually, at the party
sound like those little rotors
in micro-copters which drone wherever
warblers, larks and sparrows once sung.
it’s that kind of lack.
machines which taffy-pull laughter.
pretzels of tricky remark.
a snazz of phrases lifted from bots,
all shifting and swaying in a
punch-bowl hall of mirrors
and bravado.
===============
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment