Breaking away from the madness,
paperwork stares at my departure
Frowns follow my every move,
questions form in curious (nosey) minds

Eyes glance over cubicles
as whispers raise above the din
Styrofoam containers of microwaved soup
are slurped from plastic spoons

They wonder, they gossip, they point with hidden fingers
while wasting away in their unhappiness
Wishing the same on another...
because it makes them feel better?

Still I walk through this jungle of desks,
a bounce in my step, my heart giggling
Smiling at the clock (Which at this moment is my friend),
with its two beautiful hands pointing straight up

For it is lunchtime, my quiet time,
that precious hour in the middle of each work day,
sixty minutes of pure bliss
that I spend with you