A poem about my coworkers

2015/11/14 § Leave a comment

There is at work
A pair of names unique
Not in their spelling, or their use
But together, distinct.

Two desks there sit
Windows and carpet put
In a room they share, this:
He who is called Genet.

Not too unlike
David Bowie’s own hack
He’ll keep your dead hair for himself
While living on his back.

If truth be told
Subconscious it may be
To see this likeness in their names
This is what I do see.

Together they
Like he, a poor Greenie
The pinnacle of this tale is
Their names be: Gene, Jeannie.

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