Wednesdays

My sunrise in Lampa, painted streaks reflect on trailer windows
behind the factory, my stomach growls at the warm cardboard
with its reminders of late night pizza delivery. Across town
in San Joaquín, the sun sets in my conference room
stocked with a flat screen, fiberboard table, and six-line phone,
empty offices beyond echo with clockouts and receding heels.
All day is dust on my boots from walking unpaved sidewalks.

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