WHY THE CLEANERS SOMETIMES FIND WORDS IN MY OLD OFFICE

Some, left behind by accident,

Are in cabinets or behind the desk,

Or helplessly trapped between two slats

Of the blind that's never lowered.

Others stalked off, indignant

At the sentences in store for them,

And hid beneath the radiator.

The nouns sleep heavily; the verbs

Have mostly succeeded in finding places

In my replacement's memos where

They make her say surprising things.

The adjectives and adverbs are weaving

A long rope made of conjunctions,

Intending some unmooned night

To rappel themselves five stories down
And disappear into the City.