Break Room
Walls, once milk-white, now scalded from the flame
of years, a broken black line from folding chairs
leaned back, scuffing paint. You can tell
full-timers—propped-up feet, the way they sit
on brocade cushions brought from home,
while temps eat erect, not knowing how
to spot employees from Loss Prevention.
Half a vending machine sandwich is drying out
in a plastic triangle—someone called back to the sales floor.
Lettuce too green to be real droops over
stale crusts like clocks in …
