A poem at work

I am sitting in a chair at work
My job is to sit in a chair

If I concentrate hard enough the chair would slide out of the room With me on it.

The first movements tentative, jerky.
Then all of a sudden with the force and melodrama of a Hollywood horror.

I’ve seen enough telekenisis to know how this should work.

I am probably not concentrating hard enough.

“I am Matilda!” I exclaim into an empty room.
I laugh, a laugh at laughter, an infinite regression of laughing at laughter. A LOL on a completely motionless face.

“I am Mephostophiles,” the chair tries to join in.

I nod and smile too late to a head which decides not to enter.

I ignore the chair.

A click on the two-way radio.
A test? A cry for help? A message from another empty room.
I shudder.

To be continued… Or not.
I haven’t actually got a contract.


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