wicked bad poetry

April, late morning in the sun
I stand outside the back door at work smoking
Chemical fertilizer in the office park air
I fart - self defense?
Cigarette half gone, I turn to face inward, hoping
to balance hair lightening and sunburn evenly
I contemplate my pointless vanity and the fact that
I now face into someone's window I don't know.
Sighing, I climb the stairs to my office to once again
become the desk monkey manipulating arcane network
simulation files
Out of the sun, in the a/c, thinking of farming instead
Life? Half-life? Money. Shit.