One-fourth

Here's a poem:

Same time, same place

Another autumn morning on the street where I work
Every building exactly the same
towering sterile and cold with a single window that is also a door

Which building will I enter today?

This one has a doorway made just for me, though I have to turn sideways and hold my breath in anticipation for I know what's next...

Upon entering I feel my body being pulled by gravity to a shallow pile of others just like me

I feel the room start to shake.
Gently at first, then quite violently as our thin bodies are jostled about
into each other causing the greatest racket

I smell the faint memories of bleach and suds

An abrupt silence.
Our pile is interrupted with the startling silver splash of others landing on top of us
Ten more had burst through the narrow doorway
Oh! there's my friend,

"Hello Kansas." "Hello Maine. Hey, who's that?" "Oh...must be a new one." "Oh."

The low hum signals the commencement of the next series of shakes. Kansas is caught off guard as his body is hurled into mine.

The monotonous cycle repeats itself;
Over and over, multiple times, until it's time to clock in.

I hear the key turn, and a welcomed shaft of light pours in through the back door. We are gathered into a sack and go on our way home, without a word between us. We are quite tired from such a long day of activity. Snugly we are tucked side by side into our paper beds...

and we dream we are cast into the pocket of a weary customer who will trade us in for an ice cream, or something. Anything to get out of here...for we were made to travel

Same time same place

This is what I do when I wait for the clothes to dry at the laundromat. Maybe I should read like normal people.