No 'field office' like Burger King in the off-hours.
They even turn off the muzak to save money.
But I glance around at the other clientele:
The punchy guy in the rainbow suspenders is here.
I saw him here last time,
then again when I stopped at Target on my way home;
and there's the homeless woman with her trusty backpack
who does her daily ablutions in the ladies' bathroom.
I wonder, are these my mirror, my soul twins?
Have I eclipsed myself into a fast-food delusion,
joining this culture of nomads seeking a Bargain
and wandering from soda fountain to soda fountain?
Still, I'm happy as a child, with my free refills
a notebook, pen, book, some drawing paper
and a window out which I keep tabs
on the world going by. I feel like a king,
here in my ringside seat on Creation.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/27-dispatch-from-the-field-office/
