Man in a Cage

He has a picture of a woman tacked
to his cubicle wall,
and two photographs of a dog,
and the hair stands up on his forearms
When I greet him with a wave,

And we are all just slipping to our grave,
some slowly, some with no qualms at all,
But at least he’ll remember the woman in that photograph
beneath the shiba, tacked to a cork wall.

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