All this talk of poetry for the month of April and I'm already behind. No need to worry. Here's the first of many (fingers crossed):
I return to work a caged bird
sit frozen to the screen,
furious fingers tap keys.
Office workers ghost cubicles
phones buzz deep in pockets.
I relate message after message
mutterings mirror up and down corridors
letters open containing nothing but air.
In-between graphs and industry forecasts
I focus on a spot on the wall, force
a blossom giant and marigold.
Sometimes I refuse to go to work
and stay at home listening to the whir of the world,
imagine connections made through wifi.
The dog whimpers in sleep
street lights flicker amber.