Cubicle Rock

his warm baritone selects dead voices.

he refers to a grainy collective memory

you did not experience.

you've chronicled their experiences

organized them alphabetically

listened to them, believing there's

"always something there to remind me"

you compensate for your life's diligence.

the bobbling piano and warbling guitars

soar you and your burlington suit and tie

on the wings of cubicle rock.

that band blowing dixie, Guitar George with all his chords

they give you, the Harry with the daytime job, value.

who sacrifices youth for this?

this is a classic rewind,

back before the network of perpendicular gears,

whose folding and closing trapped you,

funneling your effort away from original thought.

funneling it away from that urge to explore and understand:

"ain't that america?"

and consoling you:

"it's gonna be a bright, sun shiny day."

you've chronicled their experiences

organized them alphabetically

listened to them, believing there's

"always something there to remind me."