They Call Us Resources Now

I stare at a screen

the cursor blinks

I blink

at green letters on a black background

if I squint it looks like the Northern Lights

a little


I feel the air contract, become thinner

I yearn to take big gulps of it

I do not


all around me people type

their brows pursed

their fingers sure

I feel my ribcage tighten


I look out of the window onto Nassau Street

a pigeon lands on a wire

beyond it there is another office

filled with the soft light of monitors

and people, resources

one of them is also looking at the pigeon

we catch eyes, he shakes his head, ruefully


I peel my back from the wall and get back to it



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