Around round rooms,

sit telecommuters;

at table apiece,

each one is alone.


Afitted to tables

each world an unknown,

the telecommuter

re-enters alone.


On laptops to each

sits a self-stranger

in civil loud silence

soliloquist speech,


where no one there listens

and no one there speaks

to one or another –

where each is to each.


Each, Ecce Homo!

that no one will know,

and all that has matter

comes over a phone.


The telecommuter

in a world all his own,

estranged to the other,

yet brothers, alone.





©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn

[Revised 12April2013/3July2013]



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