His leather jacket embraced the leather chair,
An empty hug void of hunched shoulders
That carried his weighted machismo
& scented the office with aged cowhide-
The type of scent that perfumes collapsed smiles.
But a wrinkle kidnapped the gleam
Of the florescent lights,
Held it inside the crevasse
Of worn leather. As he swiveled his leather chair
The gleam disappeared,
Or perhaps scampered off to discover a new darkness
“We’re a family here,” he said.
Using propaganda as a tool for employment.
Companies do this-
They associate jovial insignia
With their spiel
To recruit wage earners-
As joining a family, but as Americans
And late-stage-capitalism laborers
We’re “woke.” We’re aware
Of the failures
The traditional family model
Brought to our current state.
Things such as:
Scrounging for change
To purchase fast food,
Donating to charity
For the tax-break
In lieu of affordable healthcare
to borrow software
And owning micro solutions
For macro problems.
And the family he proposed
I joined with a signature,
A solitary claim of fuck-it.
What’s in a name?
Name of father, brother, stranger, son-
To be taken where the florescent lights
Lose their gleam
Under the shadow of natural leather.