temporary   poem    #9

paint over my lips
and make other lips
fit for the Restricted
Funds Department  
while  watching  the  Abraham
Lincoln Ferry  motor  away

memos today regarding
disposing radioactive waste
and early last week
a visit to the world's foremost
manufacturer of DNA lab products
as in genetic engineering
not the O.J. trial forensic variety

an apt description of my
circumstances: remolding my being
for a clumsy fit into global
mega-corporation land
for reasons of personal
restricted funds

I reach the lawyers for
the genetic engineering
product manufacturers
on the 67th floor
directly across from Grand Central
only 2 elevators stop there
have to check carefully for the right lifts

the Restricted Funds Managers
for a University Hospital
are found on Subconcourse 2
in other words: the basement
2 floors below the basement

I'm a spy in corporate America
      my uniform's not quite right
      my face not quite expressionless enough
I'm a grudging cog
      in the madness machine
and I wanna go home