I started four poems about offices,
sitting in the yard this evening,
scratched out every one
the way I do when I’m really unhappy
with words. Cross-out. Cross-hatch. Scribbles.
One dog chewed a stick,
the other raced around blowing
seeds of dandelion heads into the wind.
I wrote the word Office across the top of the page,
again. I’d been ignoring the squawk of neighbor children
in my line of sight, jumping up and down
on a netted in trampoline.
“Never have I ever colored my hair,”
the older boy yelled, clearly aimed
at his blue haired sister.
Hmmmmm…. I thought.
It’s like an office for children over there.