9-27-23
These poems are an easy way to back date pieces so I don’t lose my streak. I don’t know if it really affects anything but me, but I’ll probably dump all these posts on the same day then go back and adjust the dates so they fall in line. Gotta see that digital number go somewhere!
Pounding tobacco headache in the parking lot behind the insurance slash Hobby Lobby offices as I finish a cigarillo on my lunch break.
I have had to take off the button up I swear so my arms don’t stick to the tables I am working at.
My offices are closed due to fleas. They had been closed for twenty days, and open for three, before people started complaining about bites and allergic reactions.
So I am back in a coffee shop, wondering who, beyond the employees, has gone piss in the left bathroom more than I do.
Wondering who, beyond me, has sat in this one specific chair for probably eighty, maybe ninety, hours.
Wondering how, beyond hope, I ended up at the spot where all the seems to have an orgy on my melting form.
Was it a mistake to wear all black? It works in the morning, when we leave while it’s dark, and there is chill in the air, and mists hanging heavy over the fields. But holy hell it’s hot for a fall day.
They know me hear now, I’m sure of it, tobacco headache fading into the grind of work. They know my name and my order and my lunch habits and probably count how many times I get up before eleven in the morning from that uncomfortable high chair to go piss in the left bathroom.
Try as I might to avoid it I now exist in these people’s lives. I may not be permanent, but I have become regular.
Try as I might to avoid it, I am beginning to wonder how often I mistake the two when the roles are switched.
Ed Boy 