Poetry

The morning hums, the sky is clean, I iron sleeves to keep the sheen. Coffee cools, the hallway hums, another day of boardroom drums. The chatter starts, the charts appear, I smile, I nod, I disappear. They talk of growth and market share— I play my part, pretend to care. Then gentle hands extend my way, a coworker laughs, “You’ve gone astray— dog hair,” she says, with eyes so kind, “just here,” she points, and I don’t mind. I take the roller, press and glide, a tin

Unexpected How do you even exist? You meet every item on my list. How the turn tables, I think. I’m honestly on the brink… Of I don’t know… finding myself in sync