Working Class Series #2A Poem by I.W. Rollinssixty four today celebrated by employment. 15 birthdays at the same desk. 830, we gather, mugs in hand, half closed eyes. impatient stances. we took a collection. what is your friendship worth? 5 dollars? 3? we signed a card, clever phrase. a teasing joke about age. gifts: a cookware set, a new blouse, a candle. just thoughtful enough with minimal thought involved. feux smiles, an awkward hug truth: your death is as guaranteed as much as the hollowness of your colleagues. 837 return to our desks. another year, wasted. © 2016 I.W. Rollins |
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