Unexpectedly,
I found Poetry at Work.
I
was sitting in a meeting, one of those interminable, stifling meetings that
recurred weekly, a regular meeting that had to be attended. It didn’t matter that
each meeting repeated its predecessor, that 90 minutes was set aside for what
could be covered in less than 90 seconds.
Attendance
was required. Suggesting an alternative (like meeting annually) or skipping the
meeting altogether was unthinkable; the fate of global capitalism hinged on
seven people sitting in a small conference room every week and boring
themselves.
Discussion
was repetitious. Differences were repetitious. Even the occasional conflicts
were repetitious.
And
then one day, as I desperately tried to stifle a yawn, I heard it. I heard it in
the repetition.
The
language had a cadence and rhythm. It actually had a kind of music.
It
was poetry at work.
To
continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak
Poetry.
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