On Getting Laid Off

by Hector Poole

fingering organic vegetables,
this husk of a person
from office life,
cubicles, those
trite little boxes,
I now stand
in front of bright lovely locally grown squash

by the employed —
— those not reorganized,
those safe — for now —
from the cutting board —
who can
sift through
the artisanal gouda, the
prime rib, the sweet cider
who can, arms filled,
walk home
to a cat, no new roommate,
and a full package of cable.
Including High Def.

Alone I
wander the stalls
purposeless, useless
as a discarded spoon
after the fat-free organic yogurt
with 5 active bacterial cultures
is done.

I am inactive
in no hurry, except that
Millionaire starts in a half hour
and I've gotten quite addicted
to watching, thus
I idle home
but not before
stealing an apple.

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