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.