5.24.2013

This Room Has No Title

I sit, contained
by four white walls,
my back to a window
and the bucolity beyond:
Conifers, bike paths,
raindrops, rolling greens.
I face a screen, drink coffee,
type on a keyboard,
plotting my dream-escape
in excel cells.

Fireblossom asked the Real Toads for a poem in which the physical setting is integral.