He post-it notes a poem up in his cubicle
supposedly written by Anonymous.
He’s trying to be subtle about the way
he staples his thoughts to the manager’s forehead.
His contempt dripping like the water cooler.
Uniqueness is encouraged
Just keep it to yourself.
His cubicle is filled with antique bric-a-brac
since he’d rather not stimulate the economy.
Perhaps Marx was right.
He can’t wait for retirement,
the permanent vacation.
What Life is All About.