30:30 2014, Day 28

Settling Up

A wet sack of a man is watching me piss
in a plastic cup. He isn't worried
by what his job asks, but I am
whistling Mrs. Brown, You've Got
a Lovely Daughter, and it tugs
his frown into a longer frown, like
weights pull a lobster trap under
the tide. I wonder if the lab will find
metabolites of the Whopper I swallowed
at my desk over lunch half-hour.
What's to be done with a worker
who's had it his way?