Occupying Space

The government wants to know what I do.

I’ve typed the same ten letters in the box

for fifteen years, a decade and a half

of being the same gear in the same machine.

The numbers don’t add up to a life,

just a series of deductions and small losses.

My thumb left a grey smudge on the flap,

a bit of newsprint ink and skin oil

marking my presence on the official record.