|
She clocks in at nine,
puts in eight hours, but really clocks out nine-o-one. A cloudy May sky looms, incongruous, without. Desk lamps sun their work. The telephone rings. A message is recorded. How does voicemail work? Pencil grinder whines; shaves down the encumb’ring wood— then snaps off the lead. Half an hour for lunch, taken in a loud break room, with Monday’s paper. An assignment comes. She nods as she takes the sheet. Work somehow happens. Pencil, lightly caught between her thumb and finger— a hummingbird thrum. “Hello? This is she. In what way may I help you? Oh. Pick up milk? Sure.” It’s now five thirty. The last line is not written |
workday haiku
from
A Fountain on the Margins : mostly new poems,
1st ed.,
Sep. 2009.
An earlier version appeared in
SUL/AIR News, June 4, 2008.
1st web edition posted 10/27/2009.
Published by Fleabonnet Press.
©
2008-2009 by
Brian Kunde.