I
Classic rock hits melt away
the inner lining of my ear cavity,
rocking the dryness off my hands
into a pile of Bob Seger on company time,
and spilling the hooch all over my plastic
desk coaster, the one with the new calendar.
II
I’m taking care of business
with Post-It notes on my jingling privates;
all Swingline and Sharpie, shit,
I’m a sailor AND a harpy
kicking pen-cups into particle board,
typing e-mails with my claws;
just sailing over the Nativity cheese tray
into the utility closet
III
where I’ve got a damp mop
against my bare feathered chest
and I’m whispering to a bitch,
just asking her if she needs a ride.