Friday, 15 May 2015

POEM - Office Haiku

The office smells of
Wet fish and disappointment.
The same as always.

We make invoices
Into flightless paper cranes.
It passes the time.

The telephone rings
Cutting through my hangover.
I pray for my bed.

We pay for our tea
With pens and buy sandwiches
With bent paperclips.

Resources are low:
Ring binders are like gold dust.
I stockpile Tipp-Ex.

Don’t have feelings, which is why
Why we hate them all.

With no coffee left,
There’s nothing here for me now;
Go on without me.

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