Office Talk

In the beginning

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tock.

Let there be light.

Dullness.

Numbness.

Morning.

Time passing.

A florescent haze

Greets swirling forms of girls.

Old spinsters arrive who twirled once

As mini-skirted youth.

Where did they go?

Over some aging hill

And the clock is ticking.

Tingling, nervous telephones,

Tangled black electric snakes,

Twisted serpents caught in odd corners.

Muddy coffee in dusty cups.

Drops of stickiness

Upon hard crusts

With spots of yellow fruit,

Red fruit,

Cheese,

And sugar too thickly white,

Like brittle snow.

Lips puckered with hot drinking.

Office stirring to office work,

Shuffling the rustling paper mountain.

Snapping the bands of red

Too far stretched.

Voices rise like gasping breasts

Finding breath.

Chuckles,

Chortles

Waves,

Talk.

Office talk.

Disjointed.

Not together.

No body speaking to no one.

Thrown out words.

This is office talk.

It is about, but not understood.

It is daily routine.

It is daily talk.

Office talk.

Caught in passing,

It means nothing to the passerby.

Boredom and a broken back.

A card out of order,

Buff and full of holes.

People passing,

Shadows in a paper storm,

Empty souls.

Secretaries go tittering. Tattering,

by a Xerox snagging, gagging.

Boss goes by, subduing voices

Which when he goes, flood  like a broken dam

Office talk.

Jimmy is thinking about beer

and Mike is laughing.

Talking at their desk,

With nervous glances.

Passing a morning,

Four hours slip away and so do they

in pairs and quadroons slipping out

To lunch, chattering,

Carrying paper bags of brown

And office talk.

It’s a pit.

Corporation cafeteria.

Stained books, stained chairs, strained stares.

Leather sinking with a sigh.

People walk with twisted limbs.

Food wrapped in tasteless foil,

Marked in blue.

Drying bread.

Cores white and green in tomatoes.

A girl like a pale rod

Leans bewildered over the counter.

Machines spew wax boxes

And return metallic rain.

Long slow heat in the crowded room,

Shirts clinging.

Itchings in the hair.

With backs sore,

With tired numbed feet

Slipping constantly

From a rounded bar on the chair,

The afternoon

Goes

Slowly

By.

This is office talk.

Someone mentions rap music

As sung by the rage of the moment.

Anything but the tinkling Musac.

All

Machines

Out of order.

People curse,

Complain and leave.

Repairmen rush through.

Computer’s got the shimmy.

Somebody calls James “Jimmy” and James

Doesn’t like it and Jimmy doesn’t like that

James doesn’t like Jimmy.

Merry Christmas!

Conversation’s a jumble.

Doesn’t mean anything anymore.

Machines still

Out of order.

Numbersruntogether

A f t e r-

N o o n s

R u n

F o r

E v e r.

The conversations pick up.

The word-rivers converging,

Coming in waves,

A mishmash too thick to individualize,

But you wouldn’t understand anyway,

It’s office talk.

Religion is a belief in something greater than yourself with some ritualistic attachment.

Mammon is a belief in something greater than yourself printed on ritualistic Parchment.

Tray ready?

Yes.

Then go.

Goodnight.

Good night!

Office talk

Done for a day.

A scramble.

Life.

What did it mean

This chatter and clatter?

Lines of broken speech

Strung in random strings

Going to no conclusion,

But to pass the time.

Elevator crowd.

Bells in the hallway.

Red lights for down.

Green light for up.

Pushing buttons to freedom.

A final last word of office talk.

“Get in, Glenn. With your weight we’ll go right down.”

Another day.

All leaving.

End of

Jumbled

Talk.

Lights out.

All quiet.

Almost.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tock.