PAPER WEIGHT

PAPER WEIGHT

I should think it not a terrible fate,
To turn into a paper weight,
Perched upon the boss's desk,
A most distinguished welcome guest,
No worries that the whole damn world's gone paperless.
Beauty never vanishes, it only fades into the background,
Lost in all our worries and our rushing all around.

I'd like to be a prism or a rainbow sort of paper weight,
Colorful as crayons and durable as slate.
A bonus to have eyes in the back of my head,
To see the boss's computer screen,
The holdings and the foldings,
The hirings and the firings,
I could warn the ones in danger
With a strategic slurp or burp,
While sipping on the boss's Big Gulp,
While sitting on his tree pulp.

To catch the sunlight in my colored glass,
As it rises in the boss's window,
To watch the sunset close the day,
In a rich purple crescendo.
To understand what the boss goes through,
For the sake of the corporate schemes.
To catch his tears as they fall on the keyboard,
As he falls helpless on the sword
Of his expectations and his dreams.

I should think it not a bitter crime,
To log myself some overtime,
And bag myself a little peace,
For my suffering to surcease.
There are not many places left to land,
For the hapless motionless man.
And sometimes mankind lost in duty,
Forgets to notice hidden beauty.
So why not be a paper weight,
Expensive and classy, perhaps a bit brassy,
Perhaps one of those snazzy models with a ship encased inside,
I could sail in my daydreams to take that boat on its merry maiden ride.
Or maybe one made of lovely dried flowers to cheer all through the winter chill,
When springtime comes to catch the fresh air breezing through the windowsill.

Perhaps paper weights have become passé,
I think I'd be one anyway.
I should think that it would not be horrible,
Nor in the least incorrigible.
As long as I'm not humdrum,
I should not run afoul of office decorum.
To bring a little beauty back is all I have in mind I guess,
To bring a little comfort to the poor and huddled paperless.
I sense somehow that I'd be forgiven for such a harmless caper,
Though my buttocks they would soon get sore from sitting on that mound of paper.

I'd be living quite high on the hog,
Like the office mascot, a big 'ole lazy dog.
Until one day I let down my guard,
Got smashed into a zillion shards,
Was hurled from the desk in a fit of passion,
Once my antics were discovered, and I'd fallen out of fashion.

I should think it not a terrible fate,
To be an office paper weight.
Perched upon the boss's desk,
A most distinguished welcome guest.
Until he found out who had finished all of those Big Gulps,
His tried and trusty ornament who used to guard his tree pulp.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED