My hips are a desk.
From my ears hang
chains of clips.
Rubber bands form my hair.
My beasts are wells of mimeograph ink.
My feet bear casters.
Buzz. Click.My head is a badly organized file.
My head a switchboard
where crossed lines crackle.
Press my fingers
and in my eyes appear
credit and debit.
Zing. Tinkle.
My navel is a reject button.
From my mouth issue canceleed reams.
Swollen, heavy, rectangular
I am bout to be delivered
of a baby
Xerox machine.
Fine me under W
because I wounce
was
a woman.
What I loved about this "Work" poem, and the reason I chose it, was the way the author added the sound effect words to spice the story up! "Buzz. Click./ Zing. Tinkle". In my opinion, this poem is talking about a woman that has become so wrapped up in her work, that she has become depressed, and may not know who she is as a person/ individual anymore. She talks about how every inch of her body is made of things that you would find in a office. Her hips are a desk, her head is like a switchboard, and ect. The narrator even mentions how her beasts are wells of mimeograph. This woman reminds me of the rolling 20's when women started working and trying to prove that they could work just as hard as the men did; hence my photo above.
