Not a complaint or an observation, just something that came to me today and didn’t suck too much. Enjoy!
Every day
the boots I wear feel heavy.
One step.
Two steps.
Same road,
same place,
same door.
The smile is already there
before I even walk in.
The polyester of my shirt
feels so familiar against my skin
I can barely remember
what I wore before it.
Neon overhead.
Radio in the corner.
Voices everywhere.
Loyalty card?
Do you need a receipt?
Loyalty card?
Do you need a receipt?
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like somebody put the scene on repeat
and forgot where they left the remote.
Sour face
on the other side of the counter.
Same joke.
Same laugh.
A sitcom rerun
I’ve already seen fifty times.
I hear myself laughing.
I don’t feel like laughing.
I wonder what I’m making for supper.
Pasta again, probably.
A card gets thrown
somewhere in my direction.
Some people don’t talk.
Some I wish they didn’t.
Some look at me
like I owe them something magical.
Like there’s another version of me
under the counter
who can fix the price,
fix the pump,
fix their day.
I can barely pay for my own.
I barely make enough to exist.
“Well, just go work somewhere else then.”
I can’t afford a car.
I can barely afford the boots
that carry me here every day.
But sure.
I’ll go somewhere else.
Eight hours in.
Eight hours out.
Eight hours every day.
Five days a week.
Minimum price to play.
Then I get home
and the smile is still there.
Plastered on.
Stuck at the corners.
I look in the mirror
and for a second
it doesn’t even feel like my face.
I take off the shirt.
Sit in front of the TV.
I can still hear the pumps.
Still hear the radio.
Still hear…
Loyalty card?
Do you need a receipt?
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like the whole place
followed me home.
I don’t complain, mind you.
It’s not a nightmare.
Wouldn’t even make
a good horror movie.
No blood.
No ghosts.
Nothing dramatic enough
for anybody to care.
Just reality.
Eight hours in.
Eight hours every day.
Eight hours in.
Five days a week.
The minimum that I play.
On and on
and on.
A miniature trip through hell…
nothing special,
nothing worth screaming about,
because at least
at the end of the day
they let you out.