Hallway, Late Afternoon

The meeting ran to 5:15.

I'd been watching the clock since 3.

By 4:40 I was at the machine

by the stairwell—the one that gives you crackers

in the orange wrapper, cheese-flavored,

not cheese.

I don't remember eating most of them.

I looked down and the bag was empty,

my mouth tasting like salt.

Someone from accounting came through

and I turned toward the wall.

I don't know why. The hunger

wasn't anything to be ashamed of,

just hunger—but I turned anyway

and stood there with the crinkled bag

pressed against my side

until I heard them pass.

The HVAC was running.

The carpet smelled like the building

had been sitting with something

it couldn't name.

I stood there another minute.

Then went back.