Bad Breakroom Poetry

Bad poetry in a breakroom,
semi colons and tuna fish sandwiches as allies,
what do I know about life?
Nothing.
But maybe that's the same thing as knowing everything about it,
I've written psalms on palms and wondered if watercolor came from a plane full of paint diving into a river;
Rivers,
phantoms with blue pants.
What do I know about life?
Nothing.
Which is the same thing as knowing everything.
Babes introduced into cold air with cold hands that snip umbilical cords,
know just as much as persons pocked in unkept promises and hearts gutted like fish,
they know just as much as the rivers.
Because babes are later dressed as thirty-minute bad poets in the breakroom,
phantoms wearing blue pants and a hard hat,
I used to have dreams,
and this is what they have come to,
scrabble and cold coffee,
and maybe my ideology is just as short as lightning in a window,
but just maybe I'm alive and maybe that means something.

-anna sluder 

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