This is the office where we figure out what’s true
and what’s an urban legend, like so much Dr Pepper
poured down the storm drain to melt all the alligators
like hot dogs or stomachs. This is where we keep the truth,
in alphabetical files that line every wall. The untruths
resist filing. They smoke in the bathroom and stare at us.
They tell each other their lies, make us feel
like our work will never be important.

Prompt: Poetic Asides (a poem about an office).