A Working Relationship

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

As a rule, entering into a relationship with a work colleague is not a good idea.

There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, especially when you have desperately been trying to read someone’s body language for ages, and then...

A WORKING RELATIONSHIP

You brushed past me in a corridor

and I froze;

when I looked, you were looking too,

scratching your nose;

eyes firing questions at each other

found no answers

(none we cared to probe too closely);

we went our own ways

as we meant, although not quite,

for haunting each other’s

every move and thought for days

on end

Did I perhaps want you for a friend,

I kept asking myself?

(trying to put you out of my mind)

or was there more,

desire of another kind coursing me,

heating my blood,

pumping heart and pulse faster

than ever before?

I’d tell myself I had a fever that

would pass…

but it dogged my every footstep,

grew worse

You brushed past me in the corridor

on another occasion;

we paused, unsure how to establish

a reason;

you licked your lips and I licked mine,

tongues frozen,

alter egos debating our sexuality

head-on;

We shook hands. Your palm plied mine

with passion,

rhythm of your name exploding in me

like an orgasm

Colleagues, we still haunt the corridor;

lovers, afraid of ghosts no more

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Something to be Said for Spreadsheets

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

A college lecturer has contacted me to say he enjoys some of the stories my poems tell but I should write more 'real' poetry.

So what, I ask myself is 'real' poetry? Whatever...I am as I am and I write as I write. Many people seem to enjoy my poems and that's good enough for me; at least they are real. As for my critics... [Do I care?]

Meanwhile...

If you can’t stop the office gossips, why not give them something to gossip about?

Oh, did I forget to mention I was born with a wooden spoon in one hand? Well, there’s nothing like stirring things up now and then to combat bad attitude, bring misleading stereotypes to task, make the case for we gay folks being no better or worse than anyone else, not to mention more sinned against than sinning by those who purport to subscribe to this or that religion whose leading clerics invariably betray its basic principles of peace and love by propagating stereotypes tailored to their own interpretation of its Holy Books.

SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR SPREADSHEETS

Love’s light shone brightly in our eyes,
though we but chanced glances among high fliers
tongues wagging secrets and lies
gathered from grapevines, but never ours

It would be years before the room learned
that secret we kept safe, those lies we readily told,
how day and night we yearned
each other’s naked body to have and hold

I’d watch you over my desk sucking a biro
and in the mind’s eye we’d dare a passionate kiss,
not a single colleague in the know
(plainly married to a career, the pair of us)

One day someone made a cutting comment
about gay people expecting equal rights, equal pay;
the pink gin of prejudice left to ferment…
till you casually remarked that you’re gay

The silence deafening, spreadsheets on hold,
eyes looking everywhere, not a single key pressed,
a sense of shock-horror, blood running cold,
the office gossip machine making time to digest

You got up from your chair, approached me
and a shiver rippled down my spine, hands shaking
as I told my alter ego what will be, will be,
bracing myself for some history in the making

Our kiss but brief, you returned to your chair,
spreadsheets resumed, fingers flying across the keys,
so I did the same, though acutely aware
no one else was of a mind to do likewise

Extended applause, even a cheer here and there,
restoring our flagging faith in human nature

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007