On the Edge of the New Linoleum

Key in my palm, sweat-slicked, I stood.

This new place, it wasn’t much good.

Small, the window facing brick,

my hand on the chipped frame, thick

with too many hasty paint jobs.

Just a foot in, my cheap shoes hover,

over that sticky, fake-wood floor.

Why did I sign? What was I thinking for?

It smells like plastic, a fresh start,

but my old life, it plays its part.

I could step in, or I could leave.

This tiny space, it makes me heave

a breath I didn’t know I held.

An empty box, a future felled

before it even gets its start.

Just standing here, it breaks my heart.

Or saves it. I don't know which.