Saturday, December 10, 2011

poem


Morning Huddle


Before we start another busy day of
osmosis, transmissions, conversions and
moments of rapt incredulity might it
not be prudent to review our mission
statement, essential document bearing one
simple imperative, unamended
since our inception? So elemental, so
humble, prone to ginning up when we blazed
with righteous indignation and less noble
appetites, good, again, to recite it
in unison. I won't give my speech about
equality, we all know better. The
heart, four chamber rhythm section with a no-
break clause and skewed genetic pedigree,
the whole operation depends on you, you
wonderous metaphor for crazy love.
Pancreas, spleen, sundry schincters, lungs, glands, teeth,
kudos, but lets be honest, for you it's
just a job, if not this, then barista at
Starbucks, greeter at Walmart or direct
sales. A moment of silence now for our hip
and her replacement, bearing up, I trust
under the wear and tear. I'll wrap this up, the
fingers are drumming, feet are tapping, oh
and prostate? My office in ten. I don't care
about numbers or units or climbing
graphs. If my feet hit the floor in the morning
everyone gets a vacation in Spain.


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