And what will the rapture look like?
Will files dissolve into dust devils
and swirl off my desk
leaving piles of ashes beside the phone?
Will invoices melt in the xerox?
Will I have time to fax the kidney of a bat
to an organ bank
and demand an immediate finder’s fee?
Yes! And my computer will refuse to backspace;
I will scatter my typos like bones;
while my immediate supervisor and the CEO
nip at my heels like a pack of half-dead dogs.
I will eat the appointment calendar for lunch,
and, in a bulemic fury,
toss it down the office toilet,
dreams of corporate mergers
swimming with the sewer rats.
Oh orgasmic ecstasy!
Oh joyous rain falling on my aching skin!
I am placing a personal phone call to Gabriel,
deleting the memories of a thousand machines,
ripping the chains from my ankles,
kicking off my correctly office attired one-inch heels,
my bare feet dangling delicately
above my personal bulletin board
(decorated with pictures of Brecht, Marley and Isadora)
as I gloriously rise to paradise
and join the Angels Liberation Front!
http://www.counterpunch.org/2012/06/08/five-poems-by-carol-taren/