Office

There’s no poetry in my office.

It is ten feet by ten feet, a tight pack

Of four places – for me and another

And two love-birds that coo elsewhere.

Open windows face the shut door.

Two nameless trees wait for me

To hop on, to climb, to descent, to go

Somewhere, anywhere, but I stay.

I watch the ants perfect a straight march.

I have named the spider in the left corner.

There is plenty to do till the other arrives.

Then, I put on a busy show of being clever.

The other opens my shut door,

Standing there, quietly waiting

For me, to move, remove, my feet,

Post siesta, from the other's chair.

I glare and stare and challenge.

But, it is a duel the other refuses

With a bloody smile in those eyes,

Those eyes could see, really, see.

I could, if I stretch my arms,

Knock the other down, or touch.

When the other cried, close by,

I did not touch. I am not that kind.