Poetry

The Pride Before, 4 (217.)

Late night wondering again.
What’s up with the AC?
Really, why’s the temperature so high?
Damn thing doesn’t work,
at least, the
damn cylinders aren’t spinning.
Too bad I’m not a mechanic.
Or a technician. Not even
remotely close to a repairer of complex
boxes of doodads and stuff.
In this time of
remote work and distant everything,
I embrace the office, for both
productivity and
sweet cool air.

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