Free Lunch

In echoing halls, a metal tray,

A clinking symphony at the end of the day.

Free lunch, a beacon, a corporate plea,

To keep us working, happy, and key.

But is it truly free, this midday fare?

Or a subtle hook, a loyalty snare?

The minutes tick by, a silent cost,

As lunchtime socializing becomes work at most.

Sandwiches piled high, a salad so green,

But thoughts of deadlines paint a different scene.

A hurried bite, a stolen glance,

Back to the grind, a programmed trance.

Perhaps it's a kindness, a break from the strain,

A chance to connect, to ease work's domain.

But freedom it lacks, that precious release,

For a shadowed pressure hangs, never at peace.

So we savor the flavors, both bitter and sweet,

Of a lunch that's convenient, yet never complete.

For the true cost of freedom, it cannot replace,

And the weight of our purpose hangs heavy in this space.