Her job, to mop out cubicles.
Fifty-four pans to bleach, ten sinks
to scrub. She hates it all—
the hairs, the slime, the stink
catching her throat. Tonight
it’s Saturday and worse than usual.
She stops, straightens her back
and stares through a skylight at the stars.
They remind her of a lad she was once in love with
who tried to teach her the constellations
when all she wanted was sex
then fish and chips at Bob’s—those hot parcels
soggy with beautiful vinegar and grease.
First published in “Some Couples” by Jennifer Copley