Temping Poetry

Not to be confused with tempting poetry.

So today I had another temp job.  This one was in an office tower where my job was to man the phones while everyone else in the office was out of town.  I spent the day completely alone, but there was a computer.  So I got quite a bit of writing done, and read a little too.

I also wrote some poetry.  Now usually my poetry is of the rhyming variety but for some reason today I was inspired to be a little different than usual.  There was something so very peculiar being all alone in such a big space with nothing to do . . . and being paid to be there. 

So for your reading pleasure.  Some Temp Poetry (if anyone can think of any titles, I welcome your input!).


 

Today I was paid to sit by the phones in an empty office.

Just in case.

There was one call.

I forwarded the message on. 

With gratitude: I’ll get back to them on Monday.

The light in here reflects not the time of day

Nor the season.

Only myself in the dark tinted windows.

I never know the truth:

At 11am, it snowed.

Some find their voice on silent mountain tops,

Or hidden in the chaos of a language they don't understand.

They see it in the beauty of a temple,

Or in the aftermath of tragic events.

I find it sitting in a chair,

In an empty office,

Listening to the white noise of a fan.

Once again inspiration found by a stranger in a strange land.

I tend to write poetry that rhymes.

Today not so much.

The absurdity of my situation puts me in a high school frame of mind.

Rhymes are for babies, and I’m deep when I

Fragment my

Sentences.