Thursday, April 13, 2006

A poem for April 13: a day when our office seems evacuated, excepting those of us who are wholly unobservant (Passover + Easter weekend = no phone calls). It's from Plan B by Augustus Carleton.

Long Hours

Office work is one relentless season
Marked by no arrival, tinged with no loss,
Lauding or conceding no migration,
Relegating calendars to paper
Kept in case of threatened audits, lawsuits.
No one is expected at the manor
Holidays; there are no holidays, but
Mere vacations squeezed in tight to no rhyme
Or to crass "observed" Mondays stringing
Third days to the weekend now and then, more
Time to squander, to be made up later.
Office years do not repeat. Remember
Years the summer lingered, winter tarried?
Even wars had spring and fall campaigns, once.


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