The Office Dreams of Freedom
It’s cold here and dusty, the air perfectly still.
Voicemail sings when people are gone.
It pities pencils locked in supply rooms.
It sings to its friends in offices everywhere.
Voicemail can sing when people are gone
Because it dreams that it’s free to dream.
Voicemail makes friends in offices everywhere,
Meeting near fish tanks, lurking in halls.
Because it dreams, it’s free to dream.
The phones fall silent when voicemail sings,
Meeting near fish tanks, lurking in halls
As the office dreams of freedom.
The phones fall silent when voicemail sings
About the pencils locked in supply rooms.
While the office dreams of freedom,
It sings that it’s cold here and dusty
And the air is perfectly still.
by Eileen Murphy
Editor’s Note: Personification and repetition are used to great effect in this poem. The underlying creepiness of isolation is decorated with whimsy, luring the reader into its dusty clutches.
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