Absurdical(ism)

Sitting in empty rooms
with grown up thoughts
in many shades of grey
all wearing neckties and ascots
(some are more fashionable than others)
they rap your knuckles to keep you awake
and chide you silently
as you chide yourself
even though you know you’ve done nothing wrong
but you return to the blank paper on the oak desk
which seems to have been given the ability to repel ink
after all, didn’t you just write a brilliant essay?
an analysis?
a diagram?
back to square one it would seem
as if you ever left
enslaved in a semi-comfortable chair
while your other thoughts promenade on the windowsill
ideas pressing their nose to the glass
like a child with dirty hands
leaving fingerprints in their own breath
silently asking to go out.
Unfortunately today has turned cloudy
and the sunlight has given way to lamplight
with the willow tree outside standing outraged
that you’ve chosen oak over her.