i have interviews;
plastic plants are placed squarely throughout stale spaces
the real plants are on desks and on window sills,
mainly private offices
where women sit and look out windows;
they wait once a month
for window washers to lather the glass
and it’s calm, their legs are crossed
they wait for the squeegee to screech
and then they wipe away the rain stains
that should have been pressed in a diary
windows get clean slates
at night you can hardly tell that anything is dirty
but today the windows are stained
through sunlight one can see it all
even the grasshopper leg pinned to the fourth floor window
where a man is flossing his teeth
after having craved a super food salad
that he won’t allow his assistant to know about
i have interviews;
and i will pick at my nude stockings
hide my pleasant coffee stains
but not shave my pubic hair
i will sit with the women who take pleasure in windows;
collar bones with freckles and sun kissed tints
eyes always nearly closed
because of the succulent hisses by cubicle #3;
they slither through lungs and offer more
than how many words i can type
before someone lights up another cigarette