Loss Prevention

I thought the breakroom was a hole

to hide in for ten minutes flat,

digging spinach from a molar

like a desperate, hungry cat.

But the black eye in the ceiling corner

has a logic I can't quite beat.

It tracks the way I chew my pride

and how much of the clock I eat.

The red light floats in my cup of soup,

a dim, unblinking, plastic sun.

They aren't worried someone's stealing,

just that we're having any fun.