Unemployment Lines

at the unemployment office I know it can be a two hour deathly wait before one’s name is called out so I find a chair and bury my head in a book that I brought to read sitting beside me, a man and a woman converse talk of years past, of people they knew and Leonard, is he still in prison? yeah, he’s still doing time well, that’s good, I guess, means he’s still alive a young girl walks in, short black halter top and airbrushed-on jeans her breasts pouting up past a too-low neckline the men, the women, all stare whether they’d like to or not Leonard’s friends exchange stories yeah, my ex, she just wants my money I tell her, well, go work then! and they laugh between the ironylife, huh, she tells him, it’s crazy, the things we get into, he agrees the rest of us caught silently in their exchange agree, as well his arms are thick with hair and tattoos of skills and scrawled out indecipherable letters of the alphabet yeah, this chick that was riding with me once, he tells her got her jacket belt caught on my wheel I didn’t even know it until I got to the next light I went back, she was alright, just fell off, didn’t get hurt or nothing she was pissed though. “just fell off, didn’t get hurt,” what does he mean? this story just drops off, I want to know a little more, a lot more I mean, how fast was the bike going when she fell off did she ruin the belt, scrape her nose did they drink a lot of beer afterwards? and so the time drags by, the line lengthens now and then people unbury their heads from their midmorning dragging into noon thoughts women adjust their bra straps scold their kids with unfulfilled warnings the folks behind the counter look at us holding their half empty cups of coffee ah, if only there was a dollar for every story