Stacks

[Donald Q.]

A poem which has baffled me as to how long it should be and which bits are important/not. Thanks in advance for feedback!

Stacks[/b]

Spines tear eventually
with great difficulty.
 
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes.
 
Time to return home.
[ The flat is  four minutes from the supermarket not including a further minute for the lift and key fob fumbling, I save seconds everyday forgoing my letterbox ]
Pace fast glance only briefly at faces,
and never higher,
I warn you. I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the sixth, twelfth, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the top of the glass sarcophagus.
 
The others, do they gaze up
Is one of them the mouth that will say:
mmmm skyscraper i love you!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers. ]
Perhaps they gather at set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
 
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
The paving stones will always be there to catch me.
 
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
simply a cheap iron coffin,
for up to 10 residents
to drown in together.
 
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenage has spots
like a funeral has grief
 
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ]
I fold up the bag carefully and add it to the plastic totem.
I microwave all the food which gives me
4 minutes to page tear from a Wolfe.
 
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I think about an advert I saw earlier ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole,
[I sometimes feel like a nested bird]
but it tastes fine and
it goes down easy.
 
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free in the wind ] 

Stacks

Spines tear eventually,
with some difficulty.
 
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes.
 
Time to return home.
The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not
including a further minute for the lift and key
fob fumbling.
[ I save seconds every day forgoing my letterbox ]
 
Pace fast, glance at faces,
never higher, I warn you.
I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the seventh, eleventh, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the vertex of that glass sarcophagus.
 
The others, do they gaze up?
Do they weep and say:
mmm... skyscraper I love you!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers ]
 
Perhaps they gather at a set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
 
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
Paving stones are always there to catch me.
 
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
a steel coffin suitable
for up to ten residents
to drown in together.
 
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenager has spots
like a funeral has grief
 
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ]
I fold the bag, add it to the blossoming pile
[ a plastic totem ]
I microwave all the food which gives me
five minutes to tear pages from Wolfe.
 
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I whistle a wormy advertising jingle ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole
[ I sometimes feel like a nested bird ]
the flavour's forgivable and
it goes down easy.
 
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free ]