These places used to really
be something,
electric,
with a counter full of concierges, starched button-downs,
crunchy gel hair, aftershave.
It started with antennae-less,
and then it was waistband holders
and bluetooth earpieces, the flip phone,
and then the razor, and then the
iphone
the iphone
the iphone,
the iphone,
the iphone, and then bones. The desperate hollow of an office lounge
no one sits in, the neon-lined drop ceiling
and exposed pressboard furniture
playing to an empty room for four hundred minutes
or more a day.
The band unaware that the ship has sunk
until it jars and halts on the ocean floor.
Word Slurpee 