Thursday, January 20, 2022

Propinquity, Too

Once upon a time, there was
An office, and within it
There were two more offices,

Neither one with a window.
One person worked in each one,
Each at one large, wooden desk,

And each left the door open
So they could call back and forth
To each other, about work,

News, online jokes, whatever.
Once a day, a coworker
Fixated on catchphrases

From a handful of movies,
Mostly decades old, would stand
In the main office, facing

The two, side-by-side, open
Doors, so he could look at both
Of his colleagues at their desks

At once, and when they looked up,
He could point six-gun fingers
And repeat Val Kilmer’s line

From Tombstone, I got two guns,
One for each a’yas. He’d laugh
At his own wit, every time,

And the windowless workers
Would indulge him with a grin
Or a greeting of their own.

This went on for years, until
One of them had to retire
Due to a heart condition,

And the other one landed
A higher-ranked position,
And then the whole office suite

Was relocated elsewhere,
And, if you visit elsewhere,
You may find the dark office

Where the coworker so fond
Of pretend six-guns still works
And complains to anyone

Willing to listen how great
The old office was, and how
Those were the days of friendship.

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