A Loan Man stands


Awkwardly in a conference room

Through corrugated glass slats

Cracks reveal stacks

of printer paper, standard size

Promising- so bright and white

And towering

Taller than he

Behind which he hides.


Closes his eyes.

Hand to forehead

Elbow to stack

A prayer recited: "Is it five o'clock yet?"

"Somewhere", he thinks

And there's comfort in that

But frosted glass can't camouflage

His broken silhouette


All content property of Chandra Mossine

*This poem was included in the Columbia Art League juried publication 'Interpretations', 2014

american cultureamerican workchandra mossinecorporate culturecubiclecubicle lifecultural criticismcultural critiquepoempoetrywork life

◄ Snake Oil Sells the Economy

Breathing Mantra 1 ►


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Julian (Admin)

Wed 7th Sep 2016 12:20

I have only just discovered this, Chandra, and I like it a lot. Good, intriguing, vital.?

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