Day 25: Lobject’s Picture of a Person on My Desk

I can’t print the pictures

as quickly as

you reach for me

cut two bottom teeth

roll over and scoot

to the next toy

next month

of meat eating

rocking back and forth

spitting green

beans on my white shirt

Day 25: Pobject's Person Whose Picture Is On [My] Desk

I have no such picture.

Not that there's never been anyone worth putting there. More that I've never put my desk in order enough to think about putting a picture there. I'm generally happy if the desk is dust-free.

The background image on my work computer's desktop is a picture of my dog Burnsie. He's wreathed in this bright angelic light, backed by the golden tones of the wood wainscoting behind the dog bed on which he lies. He's asleep, his legs senselessly ajumble. It's pretty fuckin' adorable.


Does that count?

I've never been much of a shutterbug. Again, it's not that I've not wanted to keep a photographic record. I've gone on many trips with every intention of taking a good number of pictures, but I'll either forget the camera at home/the hotel/the car or forget to bring its charger or most often simply get lost in whatever it is I'm doing and forget to take pictures.

This is why I #failattwitter. I do, however, like the fact that I'm generally too busy doing things to think about taking a picture of me doing things. I just have to try to remember everything that much better, since I won't have a photograph to remind me.

I'll be okay as long as my memory stays intact.

Day 30: Dobject's Person Whose Picture is On Your Desk

At my desk

there is no chair:

too lazy.

Near my desk

there are no pictures:

too distracting.

On my computer

there is no background:

too personal.

On my desktop

there are no faces:

too familiar.

Don't stare too long

or drink deep at the screen.

Nothing too interesting.

Just

words.

Blank space.

But who writes

at their desk anymore?

A typewriter suffices.

So burn the desk.

But if I didn't alarm every morning

from a song on iTunes,

and sip coffee to the email

like brief excuses,

and if I didn't have an allowance

but of one picture

ever,

but never for amusement,

it would be the call I make

every morning

and most evenings

to her computer from mine.

A tiny colored square,

with a face and a voice

against a blank black background;

the only living picture. 

Gladly pulls me from

my Draconian deckings,

and I'd rather she would,

living and breathing,

than any else thing.