Stopping by the Institute for Widget Studies Annual Conference
This work's been done before I know.
The speaker is a student though;
he has a script he reads too fast.
I wish I could get up and go.
If only this talk were the last.
I feel like hours and hours have passed.
Another conference session blown
in wastelands barren, bleak, and vast.
I noticed I was not alone
when reading email on my phone.
So how much longer can this take?
Just now I heard a stifled groan.
The coffee's bad the cream is fake,
but I just want to stay awake,
with hours to go before the break,
with hours to go before the break.
by Bruce McGuffin
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Bruce McGuffin has been writing light poetry for years, despite the long-ago urgings of his high school English teacher to give it up. His children do not look forward to being mentioned in poems, but his wife and dog are okay with it. He lives outside Boston where he works as a radio engineer at a laboratory full of coworkers who tend to agree with Bruce's former teacher.