#singpowrimoday4 #alfiansaat #singpowrimo #poetrychallenge4 Chief Clerk She’s one of the men, but not quite. Her uniform’s been modified, With its green secretary skirt, Though the hem is set at anti-flirt. She licks her lips, types really slow Behind her desk, her face aglow From the light of the computer: A worker ant, plain and neuter. Old enough to be a mother To her clerks, she doesn’t bother With guises that she could have worn As leverage among the thorns. All around her a special force Of malingerers, some out-of-course, A handful of Pes C’s. They drag Their boots, take naps, and brag About the minimum they’ve done, Or how the sweet half-day was won. My sickly, brittle brood, she’d often Think, and fears her presence softened Them even more. Such gangly freaks, Unlike the one she glimpsed last week Out on the field, his torso bare, His gleaming skin a solar dare... She feels her finger land on key, And doesn’t press, and lets it be, Discovers a concavity— Then strokes it absentmindedly.
Posted on: Sun, 06 Apr 2014 22:19:15 +0000