Charlie adhered by the folder just as his parents and grandparents did
It made him feel safe, original and purposeful.
Sure he worried about unnecessary copies
But a file was an unconfined, unencumbered space
He sought
under sun and moon
shelter from
rigid bindings
plastic files
white out
paper clips
plastic jackets
and folders
Such was his life: deftly filing
trodden and untrodden information
conducting an improvised zig-zagging maneuver
that allowed him to drop documents like raindrops singing
tra-la, a la-tra or birds cheep, cheep, cheeping!
In Charlie's merriment
"The universe had infinite categories and classifications and that was that"
After filing for years
Unknowingly his fuse of organization smoldered
Like a Chernobyl meltdown
His inner disorder was spinning for a new order
A merry-go-round that lost its alignment
And so he was faced with a choice:
Live amongst a crumbled mountain of files or say "adieu" to the classified
(The thought made his eyes swell with tears)
We know Charlie was the last bastion
singing out "Humpty Dumpty"
While reaching for a paper-clip
a "trombone", and flicking it towards the stars.
1 comment:
So in NY we say "It is what it is -"
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