Toilet Cubicle

I see my reflection in the contoured silver of the cubicle door handle

a miniature carnival mirror stretching and pulling my face

grotesquely

perfectly

 

hiding away from my colleagues

from a job I can no longer face

from crippling inadequacy

from tireless paranoia

 

“FUCK YOU” is written on the inside of the door

it brings my first real smile of the day

fuck me, fuck you, fuck us all

 

the walls aren’t closing in but I swear

I can see the ceiling inch lower

and the floor begin to fall away

 

my daughter, five years away from being born

what would she think?

I stand up, open the cubicle door and step forward