The Scheduler

He does his job,
sitting at a metal framed desk,
surrounded by femininity –
efficiently, perfunctorily,
satisfactorily –
and yet, his eyes
look at the others,
flat, snake eyes
staring back
with no reflection,
no depth, empty
beneath the color . . .
and I feel a vague nausea
caught by those eyes
and think, this is a man
who would kill without
blinking, for beneath
there is nothing
but mechanical precision
devoid of soul,
lacking compassion,
as he fills his cases,
sending caregivers
to the care given,
without heart,
his eyes a blank surface
leaving nothing behind
but the rustling whisper
of a snake
moving through the reeds
intent on its prey.

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