Network Printers and Anxious Felines

My desk is a boring place.


I sit for

hours scrolling through

long lists of emails and

service requests;


barely enough coffee in

my cup to erase the

blur from my screen.


Ahh, my desk is a

boring place.


There’s a cat on my

calendar that

stares at me in a

perpetual state of nervous

anticipation,


as if awaiting my

next movement

so it might

spring out of view

and hide beyond the edge

of it’s page;


but it doesn't, it sits and

gawks unmoving.


New email..


Another printer is down -

same printer from last week.


What an absolute

headache printers are.

But

at least I can leave my

desk for 30 minutes

or so.


My desk is a

boring place.


When I return I may

write a line or two

to relieve the boredom but

don't expect too

much.


Not from this poem.


This poem is a

boring

poem.