Midwestern hotel room, company town
Gray whistling morn,
Dried-out nose and eye capillaries
Breakfast: hot berries rubbing nuked rolled oats.
With weak brown water,
dripping into a tiny beaker.
Look out the south window
from a towering pillow,
Or from the low-slung couch
No Winnebagos draining in this Walmart parking lot.
It’s time again to vote:
Leave this hotel for a meandering workday, in campus hallways, breakout spaces, at someone else’s shared desk.
Take the occasional ride on the fast escalators and
Make stops at the mini cafes loaded with cakes, fried food, and
Every known goodie.
Find me then at noon
At the outsourced basement cafeteria.
Waiting for Chick-fil-a sandwiches, Tex-Mex beans, or big cheese things.
Before I de-ice the car,
And march in Mainer headdress
From a distant parking space to heavy campus doors,
Shall I just write reports, in private, in my company tee shirt and drawers?