The Coffee Machine

by themapofantarctica

I could have made love to that vending machine.


The joy I got from drinking its dark, hot coffee

while standing in the cafeteria,

away from the desk piled high with papers,


and the colleagues gazes loaded down with tasks

for me to perform as though I were one of the robots

from the factory floor.


Did they realise that I was happy

with a mild caffiene induced headrush,

stood on my own for just a few minutes?


It didn’t matter.

Returning to the office

never felt so good.


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