Poetry of Every Day

Mark changed his desktop background. He smiled at it, and then looked around his cube; there was nobody to share his joy.

All black and white, the photo showed a couple of dancers in old fashioned clothes. The man was lean and handsome, wearing tails, his face was strong. The woman was fragile and pale as a ghost, her eyes fixed on the side of his neck. There was threatening grey outside the windows, it was 1939 and war was coming. Just this one last dance before the world comes tumbling down, please.

Mark leaned back in his chair to look outside the cube, down the isle, to the great window far, far away. It was all white outside, like the bones of a dead saber-toothed tiger.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk