It has always been our intention
that your stay among us be but brief
even though we may have chased you
through the hallways, promised you
our chariot, turned you into echoes
and trees and stars. Oh how you glowed
by the water coolers. As regards
earlier memos re: orgasm cultivation,
that should have read orchid cultivation.
Our apologies particularly to Cheryl
at processing. Still the smear
of your unrunkled sex steams
like monks’ illumination upon our thigh.
The mind at such times works wonderfully,
it becomes its own employment which
research on the brains of gazelles
crushed in lions’ jaws indicates
is the result of a single neurotransmitter
reserved for just such moments
and finally, isn’t it all about moments
jumping other moments, your love for us,
our love for your fur? But later, when someone
calls down the stairs, If you’re coming up,
could you bring the tape? none of it
will seem remotely possible: tape,
finding the tape, stairs, climbing the stairs.
The brain has let you down, it thinks,
Why are you still around? Asked for a simple
accounting, many of you submitted poems
about abysses. Only one among you,
asked for a spanner, could actually
produce a spanner. This gives us little choice.
Think of all those flamingos that die each year.
Have courage. Think of all those colored stones
in aquariums. Who knows what happens to them
once the fish are flushed? Holding one’s breath
is fine for hurrying through a room
full of poisonous gas but it’s not something
we can take to stockholders. Shiny conveyances
have been spotted in the sky, ditto, swans,
all suggesting it is best you move on.
Not every motion falls under our aegis
but for those of you with difficulties
feeding yourselves, a form is being prepared.
Now go, we will always be farther and farther
behind you. Never will we ride an elevator
without thinking of your ass. Finally, don’t
forget to turn in your key to Cheryl
and remember, due to the flood,
the tornado drill has been postponed.