Someone Reaching Through a Window

Down the halls the manager
what I call chops
his step as if laying in the wood
to keep the idea going that he is
that       hot that folks say       burnin'

The offices only warm
enough to make you nod off
to sleep       really clients
straggle in like homeless
just to seat their business

some place quiet
'til they have to get out
in the noise
A gathering 'round the garbage
drum

burning toward
an in the can off your desk and out
of your hands       it's simple
the real warmth
is

not being out in the cold and no cash
For this you sit on your ass
all day a sazen       a seated meditation
on money
a rosary of the keyboard

to get through this
hell       nigger
in the woodpile the human
resource office
has not moved its wording up a bit for you.