Lights out in the office,
the paper clips ease
themselves loose.
Let go of the paperwork.
Grab a cab uptown
to a jazz club, where
a mean trombone
vibrates up and down
and around their spines,
plays reveille to lust.
Music moves them to tears
and heavy drinking.
Some slip into back rooms, alleys,
or endless reminiscing.
Some are never heard from again.
Before the sober sun
can nag, they stagger
back to work. Try to find
the same cube, same desk,
same report. A few lie
unconscious on the floor.
Tonight they'll do it all again.
We put up with it,
because a paperclip
that goes straight
is no use at all.
Paper Clips Gone Bad by Alarie Tennille | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
