Strings and Mondays


She meets me at the entry with arrogance

And senseless little tasks

That I equate to making license plates

And being in a chain gang assigned to sweep litter off highways.

She wants to be worshipped and I do not know how to do that.

I take my time responding to her emails

Like the slow drip of honey and things that must remain unsaid.

Offline, I flick attitude and a whiff of defiance.

She is lucky, cocky and has too much time on her hands.

But then, she has my attention and I am not amused, not proud

Of forfeiting my creativity

For smoke signals and reindeer games

And strings that lead to nowhere.

2 thoughts on “Strings and Mondays

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