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Reflections While Sitting in a Cubicle at Work
On the other side of the partition, a coworker
sleeps. He sounds like his
dreams are manufactured
with tacks and staples and paper
and a peaceful slippage of
time where one year's carpet
forms the texture of memories
or rather the sense of having no
memories, fleeting memories,
memories that don't matter.
The breaths come to him, here
among the plastic creatures
that squat on desks all be-
speckled with dust -- decor
to match -- his breaths come
as easily as a child's -- a child who is
nestled in the car waiting to pick
me up when I suddenly
escape into the cold October air.
Copyright Louise Robertson
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Copyright Louise Robertson