I wear a sundress to the office. No one’s there,
just me and my unshaven upper thighs.
Sensual central air inspires me to
shimmy off my sweaty thong and
toss it under my desk. One less
piece of flair to wear.

My Outlook is clouded
with emails from unseen colleagues.
I leave them unopened and surf IMDB,
I’ve been procrastinating there since I was a preteen.
I find a Gemini celebrity muse for my superficial poetry.

I penetrate the Kyocera with a flash drive
and launder ink to actualize
my textual yearnings. These machines
still jam like it’s 1999, but I don’t get mad.

I walk home commando, on my way
to do nothing at all.