Friday, 2 September 2011


Attending a conference, suffocated by a suit,
The drone goes on and on;
So, to stay awake, I draw an eagle on the chair
(Well, not exactly an eagle, you know)
As the tip of my pen finishes on its tail
I admire this eagle
So, I draw air into my lungs,
blow life into it
But my eagle disappoints.

For the next 30 minutes I whisper to my eagle,
"Sweet eagle, rise! rise please!"
But he doesn't (Such is the folly of being a creator)
Then I tear up the conference paper
And set out to create a plane
With my bare hands!
I whisper to it,
"My dreamliner, off we go, up, up"
Then I swish it away
Off it goes, up it goes
Lands on the nose of the Convenor
My dreamliner nosedives
And plunges into the Atlantic!

I am all tears.
"Oh, my dreamliner, this is so titanic!"
I remove my handkerchief
Blow off my nose.

Seated with a psychiatrist
I laugh inwardly.
That is my world.
My sane world.

In your world, your eagle can't be painted
Because the whir of your engines scare them.
Hardly surprising for your lot, the artistic lot.


The Unknowngnome said...

I always disliked conferences in suits and you captured well the sentiments.

Salem Lorot said...

Me too, The Unknowngnome. Thanks for reading.

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