There is a collective sigh every Monday morning.
The grunting nods, slapping-not shuffling- paperwork, the extra cups of coffee all agreeing,
"Let's get this over with."
Somewhere under the flashing florescent lights
and between the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys,
clickety clack clackety clique like cucharacha castanets,
is a profane soul- mine or yours- begging
to not be forgotten.
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