Last Night’s Dream

original photo credit www.hotrod.com

original photo credit http://www.hotrod.com

I had a dream last night. Some people like this kind of stuff, find meaning in it. I’m not sure if I do, but dreams can be an entertaining break from the monotony of my life.

Some background first- I used to live, oh I mean, work at a credit union in the mortgage department. I was there for four years- longer than that in various positions within the CU, but about four years in mortgages. I had a pretty nifty boss, but boy she let you have it if you stepped out of line. I respected her for that. I no longer work at the credit union, for reasons unrelated to anything in the following dream.

I’m back at work at the credit union, my boss Lydia (not her real name) is at her desk. Only it’s not the credit union, it’s her home. And it’s not a desk, it’s a kitchen sink. Only, it is a desk, too. Sometimes. My little brother is also there, somewhere. I have a desk of my own, along the back wall of what must be a kitchen. There’s counters, tiled floors, bright lighting. But there’s also filing cabinets, and I’m pretty sure half the room was a forest.

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Eight O’Clock Sharp

A banker’s commute

Written 5/7/2015

By Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Intermittent clouds

Play games with the sun, cut grass sings

Like the vibrating cords of a supplicant

Torn loose from his god

Bringing sweet scent to the air

Birds twitter away

Oh how I wish I could be included in the

Revelry

Their secret lives

The joke’s on us I suppose

A cat stretches, bites at hidden fleas

Bolts sudden from his ambush site, sight

Runs from mine

Behind trees

Alarm calls explode around

Screeching sirens pierce like blades

That settle suddenly on silence, pregnant

With expectations of horrible things

With a hesitant, dare I say brave?

Single sharp sign

The chorus begins again

I walk on

Passing lovers holding hands

And kissing, oblivious to the

Scene transpiring around them

Onto the crosswalk

I pass a thin man, lit cigarette in hand

A gecko tattooed on his exposed wrist

Out of the park, back to the cubicle

At my desk for eight

O’clock sharp