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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