How thoughtlessly alien words such as ‘office’
Intrude into the quiet of a line…
Only the orange hue of dusk beckoning
Like the call of an evening maggie
‘Come out, out, out, out’
Washes the day away creating words
Jostling for their place in the natural order
Of the life meant to be.
Weasel-speak and gobbledygook are disposed of
In non-recyclable waste
The night, a still frame of relief.
Copyrighted by the author