by summertime all the pockets were frayed
and displayed like an open wallet
pictures of empty festering nothings
were haunched over laptops breaking
their nails on every keystroke
berta, my secretary at the time
took to riding her bike every day
to the donut shop down on 4th
and kretzel, she would bring us back
a large box of assorted pastries,
but never failed to drop them,
or eat them, or give them away
before returning to the office,
with sticky hands and face,
sweat trickling down her meaty thighs
and nothing to show for it, but
a suttle stench that followed her around
until evening, when we locked the doors
and went home to our television's
television dinners
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