So, I have a really boring job. Sometimes I’m busy, sometimes I’m totally not. Sometimes when I see the piles of work that appeared on my desk overnight, as though brought forth from the ether by some secretive night time paperwork fairies, I go and open the quiet field of Microsoft Word and write a poem instead.
Because this is ‘work poetry’ and work isn’t what you’d call a creativity inspiring environment, It’s usually pretty crappy stuff. Today, however, I think that what I wrote was actually a bit ok. So here it is. Comments please.
Bring the men down from where they mine the sky
Of lightning and give them overalls.
If they still wish to be high, then make them pi
-lots winging the thin electric blue of
You and me and Moses shaken times.
Otherwise, remember, faith is made of scrap-
Metal ascending daily on cordwood motors
And elastic bands and eventually everything
Collides with a mountain somewhere.
It carves out the great commandment carved
Elsewhere by physics, the wax melts quickly
When the lightning comes.
Oh. PS. If you have any poetry written at work send it through and we’ll totally post it up here for you.