Poem Found On My Desk This Morning

the final draft

As Much As We Might Have Hoped It Would Be Different
The sad truth is that writing this 
poem will not extend either of our
lives by a fraction of the time it will 
take to read it —

Or even, if it deeply displeases, the time it will 
take to crumple it into a small, angry ball and 
toss it into the air, hoping it catches a current from a 
ceiling vent and lands in someone else’s cubicle.