Bored

to an otherwise empty bulletin board

I have nothing

but copier emotions, with the toner

running out

stapled into a cycle of routine

-make the coffee, answer the phone

greet people with a sticky sweet smile that

I don't even mean-

stapled into a realm

of semi-gloss and matte looks

that unfortunately give my inner discontent away

I am sorry but he is not in currently, yes, thank you, no I'm sorry, please, back away from the desk, sir....

downloading dancing smiley faces and

attachments that I don't want

so it seems as if I'm caring, but honestly,

do I care?

what am I supposed to do with them anyway?

with puppy dog eyes to pass the time away,

licking chapped lips

from admitting mistakes that are not mine and

typing up what should have been said

-and sent already-

in a mental memo to myself

shredding all pride, with pages of incorrect verbiage,

into a confetti stream of consciousness.

bury head into hands, born into

a post-it note universe, tacked to a wall to remember

at some other time, most likely weeks after the deadline.

I watch blurs of humans walk by, as I

simply sniff the white out

and watch the clock die