Val Morehouse - Data Collection

A building built like a blockhouse is
my office. Air-conditioned. Climate controlled.
No number on the door.
Of course. No one knows where
to find me. But I do have lines into

The windowless place
I call home. Top secret. Eyes only.
That’s my clearance. Lives inside
my little crypt. Safe online in trust.
Dossiers anyone?

Fools’ errands? Thoughts dangerous or benign?
Nights on the town? I’ve got a little
deposit indexed for everyone. Your choice.
But I don’t talk. Ah, the junk
I could round up. Absurdities.

Paper lives. Paper souls. Hermes I call it.
Password protected. A pick-proof file.
My electronic briefcase. So entertaining.
Only I have the right combination,
though I’ll admit, not much demand for it yet.

I scan it for a laugh now and then.
Not a policeman. A public servant.
My sources know how to break into anything,
real time or not. But I must be getting old.
I worry a lot.

Why, that the call
will never come. Or somehow,
someone ruthless will hack my file,
now that I have
more secrets to lose than anyone.

Val Morehouse

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/data-collection/