DARK CLOUD 2

a fish out of water

V

THERE IS NO LADDER

There was a time when Rosalind gave a shit, but those days were gone. Now she worked her job, but could no longer ‘invest’ in the company. She couldn’t afford the time and energy the company extorted from her, in the name of ‘climbing the ladder’. There was no ‘ladder’. So, she put in her time, and the rest didn’t matter. She’d be passed over again, but knew now what to expect, and kept those expectations tampered down. She’d get by ‘til they caught on, but she read the writing wall, and it wasn’t favorable, so she shut it down.

Arnold was older, and perhaps a little wiser, but only by a bit. He’d kept his pencils sharp, and his papers tidy, and gave every impression of being a solid company man. But inside, he put aside the mundane pain, and went about his chores with the dulled precision of an assembly line worker. Lost in a digital sea, awash in numeric clutter, there would always be numbers, but somewhere in there, the client didn’t really matter, just the calculations. He’d lost his affinity. It frustrated him and he wondered how he got to this place, and was counting ‘the days to his pension’…that’s the only math that mattered, yet so long a wait.

On the day they met, all blustery and keen, he held the door open, and that was their start. She thanked him, demurely, and he gratefully accepted. They’d each asked for a table for one, but after some small negotiations, they settled on a table for two.

He proceeded to inquire about her life, which made her uncomfortable, at first, but with his gentle coaxing she found a willing ear, and could not shut up, nor did he want her to. They talked, long and involved, he, drawing her out of her shell. He'd even invoked some  laughter...it grew naturally, and unexpectedly. 
They talked through the lunch hour and beyond…well beyond. Enraptured by the chatter, each decided, this was a significant matter, and their job could wait. In fact, it could wait until tomorrow, because the rest of today was unexpectedly spoken for. It was so ‘spoken for’ that that afternoon was spent in, first a gallery, then a museum, followed by dinner, followed by an intimate episode, back at her place.

“The place is a mess, What will you think of me?”

“I think the sun and the moon, not the state of your room, so please…”

So please him, she did, and he, her. They’d found each other on a normal, stormy, Tuesday, out of the blue, blindsided, and suddenly the jobs didn’t matter, and life took on a new meaning.

V

* * * *

         Vacuum

He opened the file 

and there it was

On an empty page, 

the word 

    'Floating there

Upper-left top

Of an otherwise 

blank screen

Odd....

He doubted it was his. 

Yet no doubt it was.

It had to be 

Who else's?

What's it mean?

....Drawing a blank?

.......Feeling drained?

..........an emptiness, perhaps.

It was a beginning 

and an end

With nothing in between

What does it mean?

Whose words? 
Whose drive?

Whose brain?

Was so vaccumous

As to suck us into

Filling 

his ...

        void

Bet he feels like hell

For dragging you

Into this ploy

V

Little turds...

Crass realism

Crass assumptions

Run Amuck

With no distinction

No recollection

Of past successes

Skilled...

Or simply

Luck

In this town 

double down 

on the luck 

and who you fuck.

The more I'm exposed to the multitude

The more I embrace my solitude

Not an elitist 

In the least

But beasts 

Roam the streets

So fuck'em

Greed rules

The Street

So fuck em

Old shit gets stale

Then flush it

New shit... 

…Baby shit 

And the fresh 

Little turds

smell even 

worse

So fuck 'em.

V