THE MEETING

The department secretary chews on her cheek.
The warehouse manager leans into her elbow on the table, chin resting in hand, and digs her nails into her face.
The deputy clerk squeezes his mouth with his fingers, smoothes down the hair on the back of his hand.
The purchasing director is biting her lip, touching her painted face with enameled fingertips, picking stray polish off her flesh.
The chubby lawyer rubs his ruddy face, then tugs at his beard.
The deputy director nods, smiles and blinks.
From time to time her tongue darts from her mouth, moistens her lips, and slowly retracts. It has a will of its own, triggered by dry spells or perhaps passing flies.
The law student recovering from a concussion rests his forehead in his hands.
The IT director props her chin in her palm, tenderly nipping at her nails. The outreach director pokes her pen in her mouth, then uses it to dig in and clean out her ears.
The PR assistant raises her eyebrows, plays with an earring, furrows her brow, scratches the bridge of her nose with a fist.
The elected official strokes his moustache and smirks.
The meeting concludes; the next date is set. Relief lights their faces and all rise and stretch.