i am forced to use a rock and chisel
to meld words and photos on this machine:
there are spinning circles round and round
like a tidepool on my screen. i wait and wait
for a dear darling okay so i can keep pounding
away in my menial tasks. my button-up shirt
and khakis, sandals (because it's a casual office,
you know?) on this old printing press that huffs
and puffs its way into remission: i'm afraid to stray
because everyone can see where i've placed my marking
and what i call my own like a cat in heat—
my life is fully of copy and paste,
now Publisher and i will get reacquainted
after years and years: little does she know that i
have been having an affair with InDesign for years.
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