Break Room

Rubbed into a clod, wound
into the night stockman's cheek
a pinch of chew compacts
at tooth and gum. Newspapers
 
splay out along the table
without receipts, taken by
the clerks as the origami
of the overworked.
 
He spits into a bottle, scribbles
on the newsprint with his
pencil pictures he says
illustrate the children's book
 
he won't write. Photos fall
to his demonic hero.
The op-ed page tells the truth
 
under the light, the tobacco
he sucks on like a young heart
does Popsicles.

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