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Eddie GibbonsPoems |
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My Boss, the Sea
Eddie Gibbons
In the grey estates of Industry
all outlooks are bleak. Windows
seldom show more than the
factory opposite, a dirty apex
of corrugated misery. Often
the scene is a drab brick wall.
But in this new job one of the
windows look out on the sea.
It is a small rectangular
blessing, a keyhole full of
weather, sending reports of
seagulls, currents and clouds.
Now and then, when I look up
from the universal oblong of
Windows 98 I can sometimes
see a tiny red ship take an age
to traverse the length of the
window ledge.
When I turn back to my screen
my boss is usually at my shoulder
branding me as a dreamer
who should pay more attention
to Autocad icons and less to
these maritime meanderings.
So I continue drawing details
on my screen. When the prints
are issued they will be sent
to the client, who will build
a huge red ship and send it
sailing, tiny past my window.
