Episode 9: I Spy

for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)

In the dining room, I spy some grungy little details:

super indelible lipstick stains on juice cup rims
a red "x" marking the only pan that doesn't heat-warp
a mop head on the floor to soak up a constant drip from the ceiling vent
a wedge of sheetrock missing from a doorway where the cart shaved it off
one burnt out bulb in the wall sconces
four clocks, all reading slightly different times
and a cupboard corner full of ownerless items:
   a black mug
   a white one with a blue stripe
   a squat, round vase
   a half-pint canning jar
   a floral-handled spoon
   a blue plastic cup.

This is not the rural Midwest of your homesteading blogs,
pristine white farmhouses and chickens and overalls.
This is where we are now.
Things are underfunded and worn out.
People are worn out and wearing out their complaints.

People with no place to be and no schedule to obey
asking sternly or frantically, mostly accusingly:
"Is my toast done yet?"