The Private Poet

I knew a man;

He worked in my office.

He was quiet and friendly and polite.

The workplace, in the end, wasn’t good.

I railed against the management, the bad decisions, the injustices.

Sometimes I would complain to him

and he would listen and nod.

He was well-respected at work,

more senior than me.

Perhaps he supported the management and the decisions?

I didn’t complain to him often.

Much later I discovered that he was a poet,

and I bought his book of poems.

Reading them, I felt and thought many things.

One of them was

that he too felt

disappointments and frustrations at work,

but his were just more patient.

While mine spewed forth

filling rooms and the ears of those around me

before dissipating and vanishing,

his waited quietly

for the invitation

of an empty page

and then flowed

with order and elegance,

leaving behind a thing of lasting beauty.

Another thing I thought

was how strange and unnatural

are our workplaces

and the relationships we make there.

Copyright Sophie Ransom 2021