the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
OFFICE BOY
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
Shall we be carried away like fish,
or a bird scooped up from a pond of sky?
Will winged creatures of mythical belief assemble
at one synaptic point, just for each sudden death?
Will we go hot and heavy,
or coolly into the flowing bright,
or into both darkness and light
carried by one nose or ear hair,
or a blood drained toe,
baldly bawling or sweetly serene?
Perhaps departing tethered to a rippling back,
between silver moth wings singed
with a fiery transcendence
as we scorch through astral drapes?
The cold side of the moon may open
as a pure Day-Lily; a clerking ghost
busily writing our years of last words.
At pieces or peace among the white satin lining
of funeral flowers we will either appear or disappear,
once more boxed snugly in
against infinity.
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
I told him to create an account
and write me a poem
you won't believe his recount
this will compel you to focus
he said he wasn't allowed to
that it would be one document
when if he would just do
it would be a different occupant
When he was still working
they have a device to snap up temperatures
he would say he had to proceed clerking
and do it himself when that wasn't his expenditures
in other words he didn't check them
and would leave for work pretending
earlier than his shift he would stem
and leave me at home depending
It's not just me he does this to he's sleek
he told a friend he had to be at work two hours early
when that wasn't the case I'm proof as I speak
to refrain from dealing with confrontation surely
which is what he's trying to spout
the expert in escapism
though prisoner he's not no doubt
I hope this stops soon for I'm not into barbarism
HIDDEN LIVES
A doctor is so serious as you
Ask her to your pain subdue
When you leave and close the door
She’s break-dancing across the floor
School is filled with teachers stern
Their pupils quiet, serious , learn.
When the bell rings out as last
Staffroom shakes with laughter blast
Cop on duty in the night
Has to deal with gangs that fight
At home he’s painting flower vases
Maybe embroidering with laces
We all have secret lives unseen
Can’t be helped - it’s in the gene
Judge not a man who’s just there clerking
His spirit’s under the papers lurking.
I said you couldn’t hold me,
I told you I must scold thee.
Play tight and I will break free,
Play off and I must stroke three.
Twisting, writhing, jerking,
Shooting J’s and smirking.
You should be at work; box and clerking,
While I am here, going berserking.
Game is on today,
TOLD you I must slay.
Lebron-like in my foray,
Jordanesque in my ballet.