Poetry, 2003 style

AT THE NANCY DESK

Vigilance and honor
The sheer responsibility
Who's there?
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
Long live the King!
Bernardo? He.

The lunch hour sees much traffic
And I watch it all
shadows, figures
They appear on the surveillance screen
clamoring to enter
And faithfully I buzz them in
Sometimes they come alone, sometimes in twos and threes
Discriminating, I am not
My duty forbids it.

When the phone rings I sweat
Frantically, I consult the directory
Cold, clammy fingers desperately dial five digit extensions
I can feel the heavy gaze of the caller
Hastily and wordlessly, they are put through
An overwhelming feeling of relief.

The hour grows old
Lunch is nearly up
Soon Nancy will return to her watch and I -
I'll return to my desk
Have you had a quiet guard?
Not a mouse stirring.