hiding in the cubicle

hiding in a cubicle

I always seem to be hiding from something:
the police at the intersection with their red and blue lights
sirens,
crown victorias on the
freeway,
streets and DUI checkpoints.

If I saw an ex I
would jump in a dumpster.


I'm at work and I'm hiding again.


the boss runs up and down the aisles and
I should be anywhere but here, on some beach in malibu writing
some bullshit novel (this has to end soon)

the waves crashing on the shore, lots
of red wine and a black porche carrera parked in the driveway.

the boss runs up and down the aisles and
I don't think it'll be much longer she sees this bad habit so
I'll end it here, not a faboulus ending, but I have a call on hold.