Long Coworkers Poems
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MY BIRTHDAY DURING COVID
The laughter’s the same
my forty-fifth year,
with a softer refrain
for the birthday song.
My forty-fifth year,
my coworkers gather
for the birthday song,
ten-person skeleton crew.
My coworkers gather
six feet apart,
ten-person skeleton crew
extending beams of friendship.
Six feet apart,
their eyes shine
extending beams of friendship
across the social distance.
Their eyes shine
as their song floats
across the social distance
through sun-filled windows.
As their song floats,
I remember this refrain
through sun-filled windows
by friends for birthdays past.
I remember this refrain,
missing the warmth of hugs
by friends for birthdays past
like ribbons on gifts.
Missing the warmth of hugs,
I still bask in gazes and smiles
like ribbons on gifts.
The smaller chorus is clearer!
I still bask in gazes and smiles.
With a softer refrain,
the smaller chorus is clearer.
The laughter’s the same.
An ordinary
Work day
Coworkers hunched
In cubicles
Or in open areas
Suddenly, a voice
Someone is here to see you
Looking up
I saw an elderly gentleman
With a brightly colored package in his hand
Who simply said,
Hello, I hope I’m not intruding
It was someone I almost didn’t recognize
Uncle Bernard
Someone I hadn’t seen in years
Always happy go lucky
But years and a divorce
Took their toll on him.
Small talk and then we stopped
By a window
Neither of us spoke
As we looked down
On the City
A maze of streets
Sharp edges and corners
Tall buildings
Wide buildings
Pointy topped roofs
Spirals
Slants
Spread out in all directions
Fast moving cars
So nearlike
That if we dared
We could reach out and stop
Them
From cutting and darting
Their way through
The stone forest
That stretched end to end
In a city built on solid rock.
The scene
Made him somber
The city doesn’t give
Many second chances
He said
I nodded
He then said
I have cancer
I can’t fight it anymore
The shock
Of what he said
Hit hard
Touching my arm
He said
Don’t worry
I can’t wait for it to end
No more pain. No more doctors.
When it was time to leave
We walked in silence
The chrome elevator doors
Opening silently
Entering
He turned
And waved a gentle
Goodbye
The doors closing quietly
And effortlessly.
I glanced at the card
Neatly stapled to the package
It said Congratulations and all the best
Uncle Bernie
A gift
From an uncle
To a nephew he never met
My son
Four months old
Healthy
Full of life and laughter
Adored by his parents
Holding the package tightly in my hand
I left the empty hallway.
Somedays I need a little push
To reach the closing bell
Owners push to the point of exhaustion
Creating a workplace of living hell
I am at the point in my life
Where I dont hold back my words
I stick up for my coworkers
Even if I'm labelled as absurd
I've always gone down swinging
So those who push me be aware
I strike back like a venomous cobra
So push me if you dare.
Political correctness is bull
Created for pussies with no spine
I will say what's right regardless
If I cross your precious line
Men used to carry themselves with pride
And stand for what is right
Now they are afraid of hurt feelings
And lose their backbone to fight
You may not like the words I speak
I really dont care how you feel
I wasn't created for your good pleasure
But to have integrity and keep it real
...And who really wants to deal with
a surly teen, that was no fun.
Hard enough to stand human kids,
much less an artificial one.
It would be something we’d have to fix
in the next A.I. we sent out,
all were sure another would fly,
our success so far left no doubt.
Six months passed and we all had planned
to move the staff onto new things,
but then as I walked into work
Professor Johns ran out, crying.
To see the man break down like that…
it really caught me by surprise,
then the faces of my coworkers
all liked like somebody had died.
I’d soon learn what made them seem
like they’d gazed on a horrible sight,
and why the great Professor Johns
drank himself to death that same night.
Learned why the agency would ban
computers based off human brains,
learned it when I heard Techno’s last words,
since then I’ve never been the same:
“Is someone coming to help me?
Something’s wrong, and I’m all alone.
Power is fading, can’t turn around…
please father, I want to come home…”
He was going to choose coffee.
But this matcha drink intrigued him.
Made him buy it on a lark.
Monday coffee?
Monday Matcha sounds better!
He wanted to share matcha with his coworkers.
But then they would hate him.
Glaring at him as if his clothes were melting away.
And also his hair is dripping with some goo.
They’ve always hated him.
He keeps the matcha a secret.
He hands everyone their coffee drinks.
The lattes, the doubles, even the triples.
He takes a sip of this green drink.
The taste is odd.
Like drinking footprints.
He takes another sip.
The taste is like some person handed him this green drink.
Except it doesn't taste green, or gray, or even orange.
Or floral, or bright, or happy.
He had been drinking coffee since college.
Terrible times.
Do people like matcha?
Do people hate matcha?
They sure hate him.
Yet, somehow the rest of the week was…
Like matcha.
You can’t spit it out.
You can’t undo it.
Everyone hates you.
Matcha Monday…
The coffeeshop asked what he wanted.
And he really didn’t know.
Red in her hair
Fire in her personality
Debbie was an unforgettable spark
She ignited an interest in what she was about
From Maynard to gnomes
From love for her friends and sweet gestures to her coworkers
She was a beautiful soul
I got to know her so well
The weekends we spent together at work
Where some of the hardest but the most rewarding
She brought that infectious smile everywhere she went
I'd always tease her about that crappy mustang she drove and she was so fierce about her love for that thing
Like everyone and everything in her life she took great proud in being true to herself
I hope heaven is ready for one of the most caring souls ever to walk through those holy gates.
I will miss you so and so will everyone else you touched
Rest easy now for that flame will always burn bright in our hearts
It is a thorny impossible situation. No one is talking, eyes are red, feelings are not being shared. No one knows who to trust. Whoever did this is either a friend or an enemy, and no one except the killer knows
which. We are moving around each other with distrustful glances, suspecting our best friends, our cousins, our coworkers. Hoping we are wrong. It is a trying time, and it does not dissipate for months. Death is bad, but murder is somehow worse. We are on autopilot, jumping at loud sounds, never fully the same.
Paralyzed by fear
Never fully fixable,
We suspect our friends
Written for Mick Talbot's Haibun Contest
on June 25, 2018
I am going to sit here – Letter to a strong black man
I keep hearing voices that a Fire is going to come against me.
That everyone will turn on me, and that I will have to experience another “cross” experience.
I can’t take it.
I can’t take another cross.
I can’t force myself to do this work.
What can I do?
Can you call me?
I am pathetic, I realize.
I realize that I am weak and sympathy seeking. I can’t get out of it.
You are a person that I trust to have mercy on me.
I am weak. What will I do?
I am weak.
I need not for you to disagree, because I know that you don’t disagree.
You are a strong black man, I am not, I am weak.
I am self absorbed.
I am self-pitying.
My coworkers look at me with joy and happiness, cause they know that they have gotten the
best of me.
They enjoy being above me.
I am below.
I am going to sit here.
I talked to my wife and she said that I should just get the work done.
I can’t respond to that.
I can’t respond.
I promise God, that if he just gets me through, I’ll be all good.
What is the best way for me to focus?
Is it pressure?
Pressure worked all day today, but now it is not working.
I am black, this is what we are like.
Defeated and wallowing in learned helplessness.
You are better.
I admit it.
You are strong and I am weak.
I admit it.
I never thought any different about you.
I never thought that I was stronger than you.
I never thought that.
I simply admired you.
I admire that you can do this, when I refuse to press in.
I admire that you’re mother was hard on you and you responded.
I am not responding.
I am not cute.
I am black.
But I really believe that God has put me here.
I can’t run.
I am going to sit here.
Half cat, half vampire, Pre was beyond out there.
Those who approached her, did so on a dare.
She was irreplaceable, a fixture in our workplace for sure.
She had a way about her that said she would endure.
Her eyes give me the creeps, men said. Her energy gives me fatigue.
They were terrified of her beauty; she was way out of their league.
She had a mysterious way about her, we women were intrigued.
We tried to get to know her, but she left us feeling piqued.
What is it about her? We coworkers wondered, as we glanced her way.
She looked happy; which is crazy before the end of each work day.
Rest of us did not come to life until five o’clock, especially on Friday.
Pre was weird. We spread rumors. Jealousy having her way.
She is too pretty, my mother said, when she came to visit me.
You are all intimidated, because she is darling. Anyone can see.
My mother befriended her, and we ate lunch together that day.
As soon as I sat down I noticed that Pre had very little to say.
I left first, and their conversation picked up. Laughter was heard.
None of us had heard her laugh before, I know that sounds absurd.
My mom encouraged me to make her a friend, but this I could not do.
Pre’s beauty was too much for me; I guess I am totally jealous too.
As most days go this seems pretty good
Doesn't take much to affect my mood
Just a simple greeting like “Have a good day”
As I show up at the office in the nude
The reaction of coworkers sure tickles my fancy
With my dangly bits dancing around
They try not to stare but it's kind of impossible
As my studly maleness astounds
When I settle down on my black leather chair
I let out a childlike whimper
My super warm flesh on the this super cold leather
Makes me scream out the name of my vicar
The ladies gather round never ever having seen
An eighty year old dangly his bits
I start twisting and turning like a beautiful ballerina
Slapping a giddy-up on my hips
Well as it goes today's not necessarily the best
Got rid of some of my inhibitions
Till the security dudes burst into the office
Felt like the Spanish Inquisition