by Maria Przybyszewski

 

I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes now
Waiting for the soup of the day
I hope it’s not a problem with my choice somehow
It is minestrone
I’ve only got half an hour for my lunchbreak
And time is slipping away
I can’t imagine that the microwave would take
This amount of time for fucksake

How long?
How long
How long
Must I wait

I can’t walk out and leave my spoon and place intact
I would feel uncomfortable and strange
After all we’ve entered into a contract
That would be awkward to re-arrange
It’s not as if they’re busy
I’m getting in a tizzy

How long…

I’m so glad I didn’t order chicken and chips
I’d probably still be here at night
Now I’m swithering whether to leave any tip
It feels so wrong, but also it’s tight

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