lunch (part 2)

and lunch is somehow both
hummus and whiskey
imagination friskier and starved for
intention I pass shadows cast from
undiscovered countries

offices i'll never grok
parking lots i'll never smoke cigs in
bodegas i'll never order mediocre food in
homeless people i'll never give 1s to
subway entrances ignored
drugstores i'll never need
coworkers i'll never politely hate
laugh with
enjoy or
ignore
doormen i'll never share shaky solidarity with
mailmen i'll never cough drifting dryhump smalltalk with
coffee i'll never aggregate quality of
garbage smells i'll never morning fastwalk through
ancient computers i'll never bellyache over
doors i'll never unlock
worlds i'll never speak to
roles i'll never fuck up

and lunch lies and each hypocritical minute
lies shaken and thirty minutes are
a gran mal seizure and
fifteen minutes in
everything is nonsense and it could be
days before i am
grasping the confident
humiliating brass handle of the
entrance and jerking it open with
every last ounce of endurance for
the last time