Break Room

There is not much inspiration to be found in a break-room

With fluorescent lights overhead

And sickening sweet smells from today’s cake, cupcakes, and fruit

It all gives me a headache

And yet I remain here

Determined to write

As my view consists of garbage cans and recycling bins,

“Please! No Food In the Drain!”

And white wallpaper with tiny green hedged trees all over it,

Lime and awful

Cubbies (“mailboxes”) close in corners,

And coffeemakers scatter on counters

Door locks click open, complying with security codes

Carts roll noisily in one door, out another

And I am left to listen

To boilers in the distance

And the refrigerator running,

A drone that’s not quite peaceful enough

And yet, I persist to stay here

To write and make something of this place and this page

Instead I will focus on my cup of green tea,

The placid, blank sheets in my notebook

And the message the cake used to read entirely:

“Congratulations, Mike & Kathryn…”

My headache feels fainter,

Remembering a new baby is on her way