M. A. Schaffner

The Best Poet I Ever Knew

 

A friend picked for the title of his book

The Urge To Tell You Everything.  The book

was never published, but the work remains.

 

It's the urge to tell someone who might care,

knowing full well that most would turn away

to more compelling programs, or their ads.

 

It's the urge to have one's memory in stone

rather than common dust, although one knows

in little time one's life would be a glyph

 

unintelligible or misread.  In time

one has no time, nor monuments nor love

and nothing more to miss than nothing more.

 

The work remains, a curious artifact

of time already passed and passing time, 

and telling all the nothing one can know.

Biannual Employee Engagement Survey Findings

 

How interminable those train delays would seem

when they kept me from signing in to start

hours in which to waste the tasks that paid –

painting air, juggling smoke, or transforming

five minutes of agenda to an age

of somber excuses for strategy.

 

LaFargue wrote of the right to be lazy,

a right the modern office worker has

so long as they can cloak it with screen

of pixels arrayed in a simulacrum

of a semblance of a service product.

We have worshipped forty hours as a god 

 

though everything we see took just six days

from a Being who hasn't seemed so busy since.

 
 

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray