This poem is longlisted for BN Poetry Award.

 

On a swivel leather chair,
She sits.
She sits,
Enclosed by walls of rusty case files;
Draft Minutes pile up her desk;
Instructions drop ceaselessly in her mail box.
She sits at 12:30 p.m.,
She sits adjacent to the exit door,
Where her gigantic lady-boss towers and screams;
“They better be ready by noon or you get fired.”
Lost in her career as that “Corporate Practitioner”,
She sits.
She sits,
Sentenced to an uncertain term,
By someone else’s dream.
There she sits;
The speaker par excellence,
The great poet,
The undiscovered Dancer,
The Artist,
The Inventor;
On that dusty seat of failure,
She sits.

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