My Boss, the Sea

Eddie Gibbons

In the grey estates of Industry
all outlooks are bleak. Windows
seldom show more than the
factory opposite, a dirty apex
of corrugated misery. Often
the scene is a drab brick wall.

But in this new job one of the
windows look out on the sea.
It is a small rectangular
blessing, a keyhole full of
weather, sending reports of
seagulls, currents and clouds.

Now and then, when I look up
from the universal oblong of
Windows 98 I can sometimes
see a tiny red ship take an age
to traverse the length of the
window ledge.

When I turn back to my screen
my boss is usually at my shoulder
branding me as a dreamer
who should pay more attention
to Autocad icons and less to
these maritime meanderings.

So I continue drawing details
on my screen. When the prints
are issued they will be sent
to the client, who will build
a huge red ship and send it
sailing, tiny past my window.