instruction: Could you write a poem about a standing desk?
response: The Standing Desk
  
  
  Two doors down
  Standing in the corner
  Looking out the window 
  Is your desk
  Back turned
  Wailing at all of us
  Wondering why we can’t hear it
  Whispering sometimes with secrets for the room
  
  When the door closes, it is particularly loud 
  Screaming, screaming mad
  Angry and lonely 
  Moaning now for us to find its partner 
  Groaning now for why, why, why
  And only when it hears the occupants in the room questioning and turning to stare is it mollified 
  
  We unplugged it to keep it quiet
  Left it tall and high at the position you liked best
  Chair tucked neatly under
  Gleaming clean and bear, beckoning for the next master 
  And when everyone is busy 
  Meeting our many meetings
  It hums softly (usually that same song you taught it), seemingly content and happy 
  
  People enter, come and go
  And the Observer watches and waits for a pause 
  Wanting to insert something weird and funny
  I glare at it when I come in
  It knows, I know.
  I know, I know! Shhhhhh! 
  “We’re working on it,” I say
  It raises a brow at me 
  I roll my eyes at it and shake my head
  “Not enough!”, it throws at me as I slink out walking backwards 
  
  Searching, I stay out of sight
  Looking for its new companion
  Specs on hand, omissions at the back of my throat
  Someone smart, yet dumb enough
  Someone commanding, yet submissive
  Someone current, yet mature
  Someone good but not too much 
  “Someone who will stay,” the desk whispers hopefully 
  
  I grimace and say: 
  “I’ll take someone tall enough for the desk!”
  
  It taunts and laughs at me
  While the memories flood in 
  And I start to laugh too
  And the desk and I share a grin 
  
  “Not funny,” I say
  The desk shrugs and finally stays quiet 
  
  One day, when everyone was gone, I sneak in and stand before it 
  Power it up and press the down button so I can rest my elbows on its smooth surface 
  And I look out the dark window
  In unison, we share a heavy sigh 
  Choked up, I whisper: “A new person will be here soon and I’ll be gone.
  Watch over everyone, will you?”
  The desk nods quietly, lump in throat 
  
  I take an orange sticker and press it gently underneath as a reminder of its promise 
  And then walk two doors down to add one to my own desk before heading home for the night
  As the elevator takes me down, the desk scans the empty office, takes a deep breath, and stands at the ready, a white knight brave but trembling, and starts humming your song.