Postcards from the corner office offer tips
on managing the parts of life that make no sense:
seductive five-star creamsicles
soundtracked by melodic lines nursing
pentatonic and catatonic scales . . .
You pride yourself on inscrutable self-scrutiny
the examined life . . . and all that
as if parroting fan-fiction of the Canon
through closed lips
makes dumbing down the default . . .
So why the obsession with spoon-fed fork-tonguers? . . .
The files . . . sight-read
have been sealed . . . and now
your raised hand is being co-dependently ignored . . .
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| Wendy Bevan |