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Office Visit to the Tired Faces


by Darryl Price


The air-conditioned window contained 
some China blue sky and mostly green 
overlapping trees. The wind rushed around 
and around my heart. One single leaf 

fluttered continuously more than 
the others and caught my attention, 
more than the made-up white cloud face smirking 
behind it all, or the little 

speckled bird I was sure must be turning 
his head side to side in there somewhere. 
It wasn't a broken scene, none of 
it was, just kind of multi-layered, 

like a lemon yellow cake, or a 
perfect piece of film art. The room I 
was sitting in didn't feel good or 
unkind, it just didn't cause me to  

feel anything enticing, like the  
circus tents of waving trees with their 
beckoning sky flags outside. I wanted 
to run away to join that circus 

as soon as possible. The plastic 
frame had six hard-edged eyes that reflected 
nothing back to me, but gray 
metal and bright fluorescence. Nobody 

tells you what to do about the 
cold loneliness associated 
with waiting to be seen and heard. The 
oblivious trees made no sound in 

creaking protest, but I heard them bending 
and growing in my head space
anyway. Later, winding the car 
towards home, I laughed at my own tears.





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