efficiency must be killed
so that the revolution may live


in meetings, I fight sleep by:
poking a pen into my hand,
drafting baseball lineups
on a yellow legal pad,
thinking of her on nights
when she’s laughing, dancing,
listing favorite albums
by punk bands
no longer punk
to the purists.
 
the bosses think big
studying my little charts.
they spared me the meeting,
so I thank them by:
playing solitaire,
calling long-distance,
copying my zine,
stealing supplies,
enjoying a long lunch.

behind my cube walls
AM radio cheers me on.
another day, 
you know the rest.

[Back To Poetry By Bill Tuomala] [Exiled on Main Street] [Writing] [Contact]