At the coffee machine (poem)
There’s always a line at the coffee machine
No Styrofoam cups anymore, but coffee is free
All of us on our mini-breaks, hiding from the grind
Filling up, we are cars waiting for our fix
Our petroleum is black; our tanks porcelain
talkingtalkingtalking you hear complaints about bosses
and gossip about others as we inch our way forward
The sun is amber now, how long we have been here
while the water cooler stands empty
we are getting close
seasons change and people leave but,
there is always a line at the coffee machine
this you will come to see.
This peom has previously been published on jawonthefloor.
Front image by Giovanni Portelli