Clock Out

A cashier leaves her shift behind
with just a short half hour still remaining.
It is raining when she walks into a dark gap
between the patch of trees just past
the endless parking lot she always sees
when she is looking out the window
where the bags go after she has
done her job the way they taught her to.
She sits in front of a fallen tree,
crying over everything she left behind
to keep on wasting time.
That place smells like it always does
like soil, pine, and chlorophyll
no matter what she was there’s nothing new.
Her name tag melts off the plastic
it was taped to with some cheap glue
like it was taken back by whatever
drew it out of her.
She walks along the other edge
and finds a rusted bike that’s been abandoned
by the curvy road she takes back
to the city where the whole world
opens up to just her eyes and ears,
but never lets her touch it.
She just stands there in the wake of it
and loves it.

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