by Nick Anthony

Grey file cabinets line beige-green walls,
Stretching from the speckled grey ceiling
To the off-white (grey), tiled floor.

I sit on a plastic grey chair,
That is the antithesis of comfort,
And makes me lean on its grey armrests
To ease the pain in my aching grey bones
That radiates from my office chakra:
The seat of rational, unnatural man.

Atop my uniform grey and lifeless desk—
Complete with not enough leg room,
Uncomfortably sharp metal edges,
And squeaking draws whose screech
Is only slightly less wretched
Than that of my graying soul—
Is the only source of color in this monotone hell:
A mass produced, green leaflet entitled,
“Mental Health in the Workplace”.

I read the dark grey letters
Who tell me that spring has arrived,
Bringing green life and happiness;
Who tell me all the “typical” symptoms,
Attempting to objectively diagnose me
Without knowing a single thing about me;
Who suggest solution after generic solution
That others like me have found of use
Without first knowing what I am like.

I let the green paper fall into the flat sea of grey
Feeling even more pallid and defeated,
And look out the window upon the spring day
Where the radiantly smiling sun shines down
Upon the joyously budding life of the mountain side
Which is filled with newly green leaves
That are greener than any damn leaflet.

Sorry it’s been a while. Thank you for reading.


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