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Personal Note:

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Poem

On my work desk there is a junk pile of career dolls,
A pile of papers, and one that oftentimes falls.
Along with an enormous empty blue water cup,
Stapler, scotch tape, stuffed animals, a little pink pup.

Six kitty cat notebooks with mismatched pages.
Hot cocoa mix, and a big can of refried beans, 
Sore throat spray, a half-eaten container of juice,
A ripped up diary that once had a cover of puce.

Yellow lemonade that is disgustingly dried out and hard.
My staid colleagues often come in here for crazy hats and lard.
Pile of boring textbooks, one stuck open, and little germs unseen.
Dried ball of playdough. Six half-eaten chocolate bars from last Halloween.

A bunch of mismatched forks, a light up Christmas necklace that glows.
A discouraged keyboard, amid Kleenexes once stuffed up a nose.
The custodian opens the door, snakes her hand in
and grabs the waste paper can.
She will never be the right choice to lead my big fat 
brass retirement band.

But when other people need something on a particular day,
They run into my office, and they scream, jumping around, and they say,
We know you have it somewhere. Can you find it? Do you think?
And I always hand them what they want, my hands smeared with fresh ink.

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