Time Poachers of September

in columns and rows
sequences of numbers
carefully ordered hours and minutes
punch-carded by the clock
transferred to ledger
steadfastly documented
balance sheets – more like a blanket
a comforter
to keep the company feeling safe and secure
not one second
of anybody’s life

employees in towers
offices and cubicles
as rigid and structured
as the accountant’s books their days
are poured into
seven to three
three to eleven
eleven to seven
out for lunch
time is a rhythm
but the years are not hymns
unless the choir
is the corporation
a tune played on a fork
stuck in our ass
letting the masters know
we are not done yet
that there is yet still more
more for them to take


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