Dead man's plant
Branches, twigs cobbled
Together in the corner
And reaching for their
Own dry death
Westward lit on a
Windowsill, forgotten
For only a month
I can't move
Without feeling watched
Prodded back to the doorway
Again and again
As everything else I'm told
To box and label
Turns translucent
In the 3:00 sun
Books, files, folders
Pressed binding briefs
Rule and law
All bent and insulted
By a missing
Green leather chair
The plastic mat remaining
Is cracked, yellow
I take a moment to pour
A styrofoam cup of water
Into the lager plant to the right
Its limbs slumped against the wall
I won't approach the other
I may step through desperate acts
But I bow my head
Before the ridiculous
