The Sharp End

They are laughing in the breakroom now

and the sound doesn’t include me.

I watched the photo on the screen

and felt the lock turn in the key.

I was the one who made it quiet

with a look or a heavy sigh.

I picked at them for being earnest

until they wouldn't meet my eye.

Now I’m sitting at my desk

working on a plastic stirrer,

snapping it in four clean pieces

looking in a dark, flat mirror.