subtext

He filled out forms in triplicate,

sitting on a small ledge in the wind.

The forms had been erased previously

and were torn, someone else’s name

had leaked through. The man who could

help was leaving early and was visibly

reticent to help. “It’s on-line, you know,”

the man said as he locked the door.

Around him at a long cafeteria table

a meeting, he was not a part of, swirled

loudly between officious blonde women

in white blouses and commanding men.

His computer screen was not loading

the correct screen, as they discussed

where they should be and what would

happen  when they arrived, as if they

were a corporation of seers who had

no need of industry conventions, just

old agendas to document what was

going to happen later in their absence.

When his computer screen finally opened,

he could not remember his name, nor where

he was, and everyone was gone. He looked

through the glass wall of the building.

Outside it was raining and the city streets

were empty. Three doves sat stoically on

the leafless branch of an old oak tree,

oblivious to his formulaic dilemma.