Willing Slaves [r] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Walking downstairs; turning back 6 flights up again, I
need a song to wake up singing to; - pondering which
I chose Sounds Of Silence on finding that just walking
didn't stop me from falling over in an overheated, open-
plan office - singing makes me feel free & empowered,
joyous and content - a great beginning to a new day

Then I smuggled a newspaper-covered brick into the
office to try keeping the doors ajar to allow fresh air in
to counter the stifling broken air-con atmosphere; but
it didn't work - now the brick's a bookstand in my work
station - I commiserate with my mute, shiny brick with
its weight denoting power, strength and dependability

Tomorrow I'll bring another to create a two-sided book
stand; my second chair now stands on a window desk
wearing a black-and-white tablecloth, a net and white
lace curtain, next to a tall box crowned with a hat, like
a glamorous scarecrow, blocking heat from a slanted
sun sending forth the kind of deadly rays that had

Riddick fleeing from the prison planet in his Chronicles,
I flee to the stairs singing Sounds Of Silence, the office
mute in the heat - we the willing slaves of Armageddon…