I works I in a Post Room works I
Letters see I and spreadsheets fill I.
Small grey pinecone women opposite I,
Shivers she in the slightest breeze
When man comes he to change the bins.
Loud mouth old women she sit next there
And nervous manager her with deadeye stare
Glancing at I screen to see I work
Close I window to Book Face him.
Someone files post in wrong box.
Someone miscounts order of lanyards.
Someone orders pens with wrong cost code.
Wailing, gnashing of teeth, internal investigation.
“Oh Gawd” laments pinecone, with deathly, loan moorland
wail,
Lenses smeared with the heat of tears.
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