A young woman at the Pret register
knew of my Snack Attack
It’s 4:57
and my blood sugar is low.

Of course
there was the 4th talk,
and the weather talk,
and she brought up the Attack
that stomps around —
like some tribal dance —
in my hurried belly,
when I begin the ascent
for the last hour
in my cube.

So, I bought the cookie —
it’s deceiving
all oaty and nutty —
probably has 10,000 cals.

And coffee for my mid-day migraine —
Sweet Jesus —
there’s no other way out.
In my cube —
it’s an ant hill office
everyone has a leaf or two.
It’s a stilly office
minus the missile clicks
with thirty thirty-somethings
on their Mac’s
(the interns get the PC’s)

And when I chew up
my Snack Attack —
that sound! —
like glass in a blender.

Might as well…
put a megaphone up to my head.

Can anybody hear me!

I dig, up, out of my burrow —
a groundhog out for spring —
for some sort of recognition
of my mega-chew.

But everyone has their leaf.
I see my shadow.

Sounds like more winter, anyway.