The lab worker beamed down at the set of equipment
she had spread out before her. For no particular reason
other than her zeal for her job had she practically danced
into her laboratory this morning, and for no other reason
was she nearly singing aloud as she doused DNA swabs
in various chemicals. She slipped slides under her microscope
like slipping records onto a record player. She envisioned
that the lab coat around her could have been a beautiful
dress by the way it made her feel. And her laboratory—
her laboratory was like an unorthodox ballroom. A home.