They’re paying me to write sestinas.
Twelve dollars an hour
They’ve even provided this notebook
And this gel pen, dark and precise.
I figure it’s better to sit here scribbling
Than twiddling my thumbs, staring into space.
It is nice to have a cubicle, a desk, some drawers, some shelf space.
I even have an adjustable swivel chair.
There’s a printing room, but also lots of paper at my desk that’s barely scribbled
I’ve been here so far today for six hours -
Five and three quarters, to be precise -
And I’ve filled 18 pages of notebook.
There is a pile of perfect notebooks
Right by my feet: one subject, college ruled, folder space.
No one was precise
About the office etiquette,
but I assume that if I work here 40 hours
each week, I’ve earned a couple tools for scribbling.
Don’t worry - I only scribble
When I have no work, and so far I’ve only used two notebooks.
Each of my assignments takes an hour,
Sometimes two, which leaves enormous space
for boredom,
or poetry writing, to be precise.
Passersby see me leaning over my work with focus and precision.
Good thing they can’t read my scribbles.
I’ve got my email open on my computer screen.
As long as I wear a button-up, use these professional notebooks,
and stay deep within my own cubicle space,
I can write poems for hours.
And hours. And hours.
My rhyme scheme and enjambments aren’t precise,
My spacing
Is irregular, some words merely scribbles,
But I’m filling up notebooks
Like pitchers of Grandma’s sweet tea.
Lined space fills up with scribbles.
An hour fills up in sixty minutes precisely.
My notebook fills up with rubber ducks.