The Temp

Work, I know. This knowing: work. This, knowing work, and so, a nap. Working, my expertise, sort of. A living. The living? Or, groceries? Most of a week’s groceries. Part of most of a week’s groceries, oh and a resume entry, reentry, entry, reentry. 

A place I go, know, and drink light coffee. A cube of one’s own. A germy, fluorescent place. One’s bag lunch, Tupperware with mismatched lid, labeled, as if to say, I chose this, I promise.


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