So, I’m in the center of town and it’s a nice day.
Not nice so you take off your jacket,
but maybe loosen-your-tie nice.
Everything is well in my world and I’m a happy man.
I’m perched-pretty on a wooden bench
pretending to read my newspaper.
The clock on the tower says it’s 2 and my watch agrees.
At my side in a blue bag is a chunk of rye stuffed with pastrami
on a bed of lettuce, tomato and cool mayo.
Cities and Towns are busy places and this one is no different,
lots of folks trying to get some place real fast,
truth is: lots of folks with only one destination.
I see my guy through the window of the office block opposite,
you know, the sepia kind that almost don’t let anyone see in,
and I starts to wonder why: what’s there to hide?
He’s hunched over a stack of paper that seems about a mile high.
It being Friday I reckon he should be going home soon
to that sweet wife of his – the one who hired me.
Seems she thinks he’s tiring himself out night after night
working out his overtime with the stacked brunette
who slides all that paperwork lover-boys way.
I can’t believe I get paid for watching other people work.
Life don’t get any better than that, does it?
Maybe they work harder seeing me do nothing!
My ulcer moans at me to eat some food and I reach for the bag.
Just then the doorman opens the huge glass-panelled doors
and Miss Brunette steps onto the sidewalk.
I’m into mouthful two of my pastrami masterpiece when
all-of-a-sudden I choke on the tasty combo so that
bits of bread and meat fly onto my daily napkin.
You see, there’s times when even I’m surprised – it’s rare
but it happens – and today was one of those times:
get this, the guy is kissing the doorman goodnight.
poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2012