You Can Talk To Me Poem by Margaret Alice Second

I cannot talk to them, the benevolent hardworking people
in the office, when explaining something their eyes close
in refusal to consider any theory but their own, they only
want to discuss things pertaining to work, how to access
the Internet, find Bookmarks or Favourites while I try
to hide my ignorance

They only enquire about a list of Work-On-Hand, refuse to play
the desert game, proudly declare having no fantasy makes them successful, I agree, no imagination makes it possible to sit
quietly and make lists of things, things to be done, things
already done and things going wrong - Terry Pratchett
describes this in Thief of Time

As the world coming to an end, people stop thinking and
dreaming as Rules take over, my colleagues love rules as
the beginning and end of existence, but rules are a steel
framework on which I hang my hat while my mind goes off
awandering, without access to anyone sharing my ideas,
life is useless - waiting for a kindred spirit

To start interaction again, I'm locked up until someone
says 'I understand what you mean, you can talk to me…'