I sat in their chairs like stains on the fabric,
measuring a life gone,
counting the refresh rate on a VDU.
Monitoring the toner.
Charged with cartridge orders.
I am a King.
Your thanks are welcomed every time.
The staircase climb,
felt no different this morning,
though I realised those desk top lunches
leave their trails on the seagrass grey.
And that’s what I took with me.
23 years.
After biting down every day,
every wish of time to go, until the
rush hour slug or holiday time hospice relief,
it’s the remains of lunchtimes,
droppings of white collars,
left on the carpet tiles.
I died on the floor thinking what lunches fitted the wheeled in crumbs,
like a librarian of waste.
Source