by Clyde Liffey
Tangled piano chords, conflicting duets and trios, that’s what I hear or pretend to hear, speak plain they said, think plain, I can’t or won’t. Engage, they said, there are business issues, real business issues, there are birds outside, that’s real life, the issues need to be addressed. The birds flutter and squawk, they get things done, they don’t always succeed.
There’re no windows in the conference room. I shift my attention inside to thoughts no more interesting than what the man in front of me is saying. I of course listened at the start, it’s the same as any performance, a word or phrase suggests other words, he picks one among the many, not my choice, our paths diverge. I look at his eyes. I think he thinks I’m listening, the others may too, amazing what a gesture will do.
A door opens. Someone – my boss? – walks in. The door swings or slams shut behind him, one door closes, I can’t go on with the cliché, we’re all or mostly men here. The newcomer sits in the back, the speaker has no more to say, someone else picks up the thread, I gesture vaguely, that’s how I facilitate, some like my light touch.
If the doors of introspection were cleansed, we would see things as they are – banal.
About the author
Clyde Liffey lives near the water. He tweets, rarely, @ClydeLiffey