i ran out of
paper towels and there’s still
water on the floor.
there’s so much water on the floor,
and i can’t leave
a spill unsupervised, employee rule number five
(nine? it’s in the top ten.) everyone else does,
i can’t. i can’t abandon the sixth great lake,
with a straw-kebabed lid so lovingly adorned on top.
they’ll find my sticky skeleton with that empty towel tube,
decomposing side by side.
and i’m losing my composure, on the verge of
nevermind. i break into a laughter that
i cannot clean up.