This winter's afternoon, I sit
here in my third-floor, lacquer-washed
little glass box.

The boss is away, and there is
just enough work, if I forget
the filing, to fill
the time until five.

(I find, somehow, that I can
always forget the filing.)

And so, I write.

When I'm done, I will take
these shaped-and-crafted,
thoughtful words,
and print them blackly
on white A4. I'll fold the page -
five simple folds to form
a paper plane, and send it
spinning from the window
to soar or plummet.

I hope when you find this, stranger,
smoothing it out to read
my message, that it will make you smile.

Perhaps you'll look up
into the inscrutable eyes of the
blind office buildings, seeking
a flash of sight
and understanding.

But even if you just shrug,
all is not lost. This has
a blank side. Use it
to write your shopping list
or the number of that
gorgeous girl in the
florist shop.

A poem is never wasted.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.