a steel and concrete skeleton
rises in the nearby field
wearing a partial shroud
of weathered plastic sheeting
ripped and torn but shielding still
the men whose silhouettes
I see pacing the hollow spaces
where one day desks, chairs,
cubicles, water coolers, bathrooms,
and coffee makers, will reside,
haunted by dead-eyed office workers
eking out a living in eight hour
increments, tapping out emails,
answering phone calls, marking up
copy and products, turning bricks
to gold, while today's dark figures
turn another weed-filled empty lot
that once grew grain or housed cattle,
into another steel-boned skeleton
