I used to see myself
in one of those sky high offices.
A room with a view
of a big city skyline and the rushing traffic below.
I could put my feet up
on a beautiful lacquered desk
bearing only pictures of my adorable children
in the ballet and soccer get-ups,
and my beautiful wife
in a bathing suit on the beach.
I'd cackle loudly on the telephone for hours,
talking about last weekend's golf outing with my colleagues
and then bark out orders to my underpaid secretary.
I'd take a couple of hours every afternoon
and feast on a 15 dollar BLT and coffee,
then retreat back to my office
where I would finish off the day
admiring myself and my life.
But somehow I wound up in this 30 degree shithole
they call the break room.
Munching on a 3 day old ham and cheese hotpocket,
squinting at a torn piece of paper from a legal pad
with barely legible scribble,
listing my night's worth of clean up duties.
Life has a way of shaking you by the heels.