Instead of the subway, I travel by novel.

Instead of a screen, I stare at the distance.

In place of the news, I read the clouds.

I cheer for my favorite team: the birds.

My colleagues, the tall-grass, and I like to gather

at the centrally-located watering hole.

We nod to each other in collegial agreement.

I ask if they saw that great moon on last night.

My supervisor is a back-porch wasp.

When I see her coming, I duck and detour.

During lunch-hour, I feast with my ears:

an all-you-can-eat buffet of silence.

Sometimes, if I feel like I need to be heard,

I meet with our HR department—the trees.

They listen quite well as I voice my concerns.

Then I return to my nothing inspired.

In the evening, while eating, I watch the tonight show:

a sunset, depicted in high definition.

As background noise while I ready for bed,

I tune to the all-cricket radio station.

Finally, I check the wall calendar—stars—

so I don’t forget what the plan is tomorrow.

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