The Climax
The nods pass from one balding head
to another, round the polished
oak table until it stops
with the head fringed with hair of white.
The collective pauses
while the somber man,
with heavy head,
rearranges the piles of paper.
Eyes catch on the grain
of the glowing wood.
His tired neck pulls his head
to meet the gaze of those others.
He clears his throat
to speak…
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