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