Small Talk Is Out

I can’t have any more small talk,
any more how was your weekend? or
where did you go for lunch? and
are you having a nice afternoon?
Fuck me!

How many times over to infinity must we pretend to care about the most trivial details
of one another’s lives
to preserve the courteous facade of the firm’s commitment to service
and patch our cracking glass windows
so colleagues won’t see in past the shiny day-in-the-life of dirty civilized consumerkind?

But by all means, make niceties!
Well, how about the big game?
We were out on the lake!
I could have used another day!
Har har har!
Me too, friend,
pal,
chum,
Sunny Fucking Jim.

Let’s just get it over with, shall we?
Off come the sunglasses,
off come the kid gloves,
down comes the business suit.
Take your mobile device, pal,
or maybe a click pointer, buddy.
Grab your stapler, Sunny Fucking Jim,
and shove them allĀ up up up
and shut up up up.

You are the worst.
Your banalities expand {my, the workers’] daily hell;
each empty turn of phrase murders our sensitivities,
leaving us hollow.
Chalk us up,
more victims dropped politely
with all the pomp
and all the circumstance
into your dehumanizing (un)conversational jail.

What if we broke free from this mindless back-and-forth?
What if instead, you had a conversation with me?
Look now into my eyes and see a human,
and respond to what you see.

Do more with your words than desensitize society
over
drip
time
drip
like
drip
water
drip
torture
drip.ID-10042506