synthetic oil

it's a small room,

where no

one talks or acknowledges

the other's

presence.

there's the dirty floor,

the grease

around the knob

to the bathroom door.

there's a magazine

called People on the table,

yellowed,

asking if

Elizabeth Taylor can

keep her weight off this year.

there's a 1962

popular mechanics

magazine with an article on

how to hang a shelf in

a bomb shelter.

ten stiff chairs are aligned

in a semi-circle.

like therapy,

but without the doctor.

everyone stares into their

phones,

trying not to make

eye contact

or breathe too much.

at the front is a plexiglass

window

where a man shows

you how dirty your filter is.

57 dollars now,

covid he says to explain

the price hike, the war too,

but,

he says, if i was you,

i'd change it.