The office is an inferno today,
like a mad volcano’s belly
or a bare, white desert in Hell.
What benefits remain
to a non-breathable shell
in a blank-walled room without a breeze?
Two flies crawl on the window,
bearing toothless machines of eating.
The scent of rot has drawn them here.
The office is ice cold today,
like a sleet-encrusted tomb
or a shallow cave inside a mountaintop.
Notwithstanding other benefits,
well-starched white collars
provide precious little heat.
Two sparrows watch us from the window.
Once, it was their wings that held us.
Now, we only envy their metabolic rates.