- A tight fit between paper and the tip -
reads the filter for hand rolled cigarettes
someone left unpacked out of the office.
We don’t do lunches, but look at others
as they smoke their fill standing up in
silence by the entrance revolving doors.
(After you. Cheers. You’re welcome)
The security men, unarmed, displeased
with ins and outs alike check the badges
we wear around our white collared necks.
They don’t know those who work here
any given morning it’s the same old dance
flashing our price tags under their noses.
(Hello. You can go. Thanks a lot).
And yet there’s no reason to blame them,
after all we’re the ones who hit the jackpot
the chosen lot breakfasting with leaders
on casual Fridays, by request, around 9 am:
that’s the icing on the cake for us to be taken,
we sip our coffee and let bosses spill it at will.