unspeak

The boss, grim-faced as always, Walks through the clattering office Where furrowed brows survey files, Stare at green-lit screens; He, as unaware as an eagle of its fleas, Passes with distant stare, unspeaking. A young man hastily reverses a page, And the boss reaches out, snake-like, Twitches the paper from its heap, And reads the dull memo, neatly typed: 'Request expedition of the shipment Of fifty thousand red pencils to Khartoum.' He turns the sheet, and sees with a shock A tiny drawing of a bird, lightly perched Upon a perfect branch with three leaves And a blossoming bud; for just a moment, He is upset, unprepared for art's intrusion.