These afternoons, with skies sometimes blue,
sometimes squally.
    Always steeped with dry, frigid air.
Peering outside through the big prism of a window,
sitting silently behind my white desk, with white hands.
    Always smiling. Looking. Beaming like the pastor at church today.

These middle passive kind of days. Something kind of like watery oatmeal.
Forced-in sentiments, asked politely to hold her keys for her.
    “Can I get a visitor’s pass, please?”
Mary, Carmen, Ju Sung, Gangwish.
    “What was your name again?”
Nothing to take offense at, just disintrest told honestly.