by Duncan Law

I sit at my standing desk

While my bosses roll out doughy facsimiles of Klimt—

even those fornicating flies, slathered in butter
and ordered to bother me

even my copy-writing co-workers, humming on caffeine
and wild with tendonitis

they’ve learned the fruits of scalability.


I look to the unnecessary croissants—

some call them day-old, I call them kin

defiantly, they stain their parchment sheets
and lounge about in piles of their own dandruff

I too wish to shed reductive titles.

we collude until they are suddenly gone—

the flies and I get back to work


I can take no more

I stand at my standing desk

and yell at the counter

there’s too much ice in my coffee

this Danish is so dry

crust? more like cardboard

their response is immediate:

vegan sandwich, half off


I redistribute my distended belly

steamed milk dripping from my chin;

this table isn’t going to bus itself

Duncan Law kayaks competitively, and lives in Berkeley with his wife and three daughters, as far as the neighbors can surmise.


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Back to Issue ​7​.