The Music Overhead

Wheezy, boozy, lazy

alto saxophone wavering

over my head.

Piped in through speakers

while I sit in my cubicle.

It’s noir-ish and gritty,

black and white.

I feel like Sam Spade.

Feet propped up on

my huge oak desk,

cigarette dangling

from my lip, the

sting of last night’s

whiskey still fresh.

I’m trying to decide if

that dame will be

trouble or if she’s the

innocent plaything of

the wealthy Mr. Cairo.

Except, that’s not it.

I’m really trying to

solve the mystery

of why I’m in this

cubicle in the first

place, instead of some

job that I actually

fit into.

I’d rather work in the

realm of imagination

than the realm of

clocks and nit-picking

nonsense of the day to day.

I’ve realized that I’m not

cut out for it, after nearly

20 years. Cue the car chase,

it’s time to make a break for it.

The music has changed.

It’s now something groovy.

Or at least what passes for

groovy by Musak standards.

Finding something new though,

that will take some detective work.

Hopefully it’ll be to a soundtrack

I enjoy, doll face. (Wink)