Short Lunchroom Poems
Short Lunchroom Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Lunchroom by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Lunchroom by length and keyword.
High drama
wha
wha
wha
lie
lie
lie
embellish
embellish
embellish
We run from the lunchroom
Upon her arrival
flat out run…
Stew used to monopolize the lunchroom conversation.
But now he has competition galore,
Especially if the new guy imbibes in liquorish celebration.
No one listens to either one anymore
who is the mouthpiece? the employees ask each other.
most of them are fearful of the boss’s wrath.
no one is willing to speak up
although they will holler their disdain in the lunchroom
“She doesn’t respect anyone.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She is horrible,” the lunchroom teachers agreed.
“She respects me,” I said.
Dead silence.
“That doesn’t count,” one replied.
I already knew this.
the drone of gossip fills the lunchroom
maniacal laughter bursts occasionally
I eat alone on the other side of the wall
preferring to do anything else
writing poetry, drawing cartoons, loving being me.
you have heard of run-on-sentences
Milly is full of run-on-banter
if she has a pause, it is isochromonal
nothing stops her inane monologues
she is unwelcome at most family events
the lunchroom at her work shuts down when she arrives
she is shunned, without having any idea why
The lunchroom at a grade school
My blood runs cold imagining being asked
To dive in there and try to be recognized
As an adult
I am the school counselor
Not the principal
I do not “do” lunchrooms
The only job I would have more difficulty mastering
Would be school bus driver.
Shirley sallied forth with another amusing quip
Does she never take life seriously? Asked stern face
I chose to ignore him, preferring Shirley every day
She is always joking, stern face said to another woman.
She did not reply either.
Shirley enters the lunchroom with fairy dust and magic sparkles
Stern Face brings in gravel and disgust.
the new employee was a walking cartoon
opening his mouth proved he was a buffoon
would have seemed wiser if he could have kept quiet
said the weirdest things, thought he was a riot
we ran from the lunchroom as soon as we spied
the exaggerator, who made up things, and always lied.
Did we ever give him a chance? Yes some of us tried.
But he was a horror, this motor-mouth, Clyde.
The lunchroom fart
of turbo pasta
scatters garlic teargas
laced with meaty mystery
without mercy to
flatten cubicles.
Chain-reactions
of Tupperware battles
erupt to devastate
once discerning pallets
until hobbled by stabs
of shrapnel to the gut,
prompting an exodus
of mournful bodies
propelled along that cloud
of processed misery
to wander, ashen-faced
along the concrete void.
I was never part of a family
never on a team
never felt comradery
No one ever stood up for me
people bullied me
I was alone
Poor me
Poor me
Poor poor me
She held a pity party for herself daily
In the lunchroom at work
ruining lunch for the rest of us
All cheer and jollity are extinguished when she enters
poor her, poor her, poor poor poor whiney her
We started eating at our desks
Flo’s relatives are the worst
If yours have stolen your cars
hers have stolen her house, garage and garden shed.
If you are whiny, hers are chronic complainers
who are more annoying than finding a live mouse in your soup.
If yours are hurtful, hers have killed people with machetes.
None of us have ever been able to top or one-up Flo’s stories.
You should see us scatter when she appears in the lunchroom.
We are supposed to raise our hand and say give me five.
The lunchroom is supposed to be silent, where it has been alive.
It works for the principal, they know it is her voice.
Not so much for me and my comrade, let’s call him Royce.
Royce is six foot nine, a basketball player, for New Orleans.
His height is as intimidating as I have ever seen.
They do not hear him at all and hear my voice much less.
When we do lunch duty, these kids are a mess.
I am supposed to always be kind, nice, sweet.
But sometimes my werewolf gorilla she-wolf comes out.
I have to tamp her down, and pretend she is not ready to
Bite off a child’s leg or better yet devour his head.
Today in the lunchroom was one of those times
When a particularly irritating child threw something
past six tables into the trash and smirked.
I turned and saw the smirk and knew.
It was the smirk I recognized instantly.
The smirk from my youth.