Work Unit/ Play Unit


The box where he swivels
in his pod.
Where a peripatetic fingerdance
pauses, then it’s the scratch
or the scowl
or the totting up.
And the stares
at various pale walls,
out windows.
He wears a wire and talks.
The box
his natural habitat.
Nothing odd.

The tripod where he swivels
in a row.
Eyes dance with amber glasses.
Pauses. Then it’s the laugh ,
then the frown
then the trotting up.
And the stares
at various dark walls
at doors
at waiters.
He’s wired and talks
This box
his natural habitat.
Nothing odd.

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17 thoughts on “Work Unit/ Play Unit

  1. The cubicle/office in pale hours versus the bar in dark hours … I love the swivel tripod and “Eyes dance with amber glasses.” This is an excellent piece. Bravo.

  2. I live in a box and I know it. It’s weirder than you paint it. I call it my magic box and it lets me talk to you and I don’t even know you. I have never seen you and yet you know me. You know how I think, you know how I write, you know what makes me cry, and after you read my poem today, you’ll know how odd my sense of humor is because I thought it was kind of funny. No alien world could be weirder than mine..living in a magic box. My computer.

  3. Since I understand the ether ate my comment, I thought I’d drop back and re-read and if poss, re-write – I really love this Brian – such simple contrasts but so profound, they kind of sneak up and smack you up along side of the head; well done

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