Tuesday, May 28, 2013

An Ode to Carin, Who Hung This Poem on Her Office Door

I bit my tongue and stood in line
With not much to believe in.
I bought into what I was sold
And ended up with nothing.

I looked about and soon I knew
That I was not alone.
The mass of empty faces
Gave appearances of clones.

How long, I wondered, do we wait
Before one of us breaks,
Will it be the man with narrowed eyes
Or the dreadlocked granola flake?

The light stopped flashing and soon there was
A quiet collective gasp
The line that snaked ten people back
Dared think that they might grasp

Some tenuous hope that they just might
Get through this line of pain
But as I yawned all I could think was
“I’ll never shop Wal-Mart again.”

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