Monday, November 3, 2014


Note: third poem in 30 poems in November.  Click here for details.
Since becoming a 9 to 5er,
My job devours my brain waves.
Hives and wind preoccupy and plague my skin.
I obsess over eating.

Free breakfast constitutes at least one muffin and oatmeal,
although it’s sadly juiceless.

Lunch is almost always a sort of sandwich,
plus a mix fruit, veggies, sweet tooth appeaser
as I chat and chew with my new coworkers.
Dinner is take out, unless I choose
prorogies, ravioli, or something boilable
because whatever Sunny Anderson promised
ithere’s no oven in this self-proclaimed, “Kitchen, kitchen!”

Snacks encompass a pathora of whatever is scrougable.

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