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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 3, September 2014


Peter Butler
London, England


I know the code and break in, to feel its walls, grope its balconies, tame it. Across the river it has stared at me since childhood, later as an executive and beyond. A significant government building, not beautiful but imposing. Now I am back inside its walls, on an upper floor.

Beside me in the offices are soft seats for hard bottoms, computers in sleep mode, a half-eaten sandwich, a hairbrush, training shoes having a weekend rest. When I started here it was hard seats for brave bottoms and typewriters with ribbons.

Nowadays, I am nobody in particular in this very important building. It is unprepared for an intruder like me, who wants no more than to look down upon those who caused my dismissal.

official farewell
people staring
into their glass

On the balcony, I note searchlights riding up the walls, but they do not catch me behind a pillar. The building steadies my shoulders, urges me to stay and move on.

I plan to leave behind something for which they will be unprepared, so people will be sure to remember me.

chairman’s obit.
of his darker side
not a mention



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