Last Days

My soda can’s exterior sweats
Like a condemned man awaiting his sentence
Waiting for the guillotine to drop
It sweats
From the dry heat inside this break room
Liquid beads slid down its side
Like tears falling from an eye
Yet
It’s freezing
Just beyond the windowpanes
Squared glass framed visions of the outside
I wonder
As my break is coming to an end
And I have to
Go back to the factory’s floor
Will this be my last day?
The wind is cold outside
But
At least it carries hope of something different
Hope of a...