who thinks of
the garter belt
under the hockey shorts
every night in the NHL

while watching
a saucily clad stripper
swing around the brass pole
in a fire hall

Music in elevators
does not uplift
descending spirits
any more than
waxed floors
bloom.

they utter the soft buttresses
of their agreement
like butterflies fluttering

in another office
music and radio
unuttered mutterances
sell style buddy
to someone else

the rest of us rest
give no opinions
but hold opinions
like moldy cake left
after guests have left