I was a worker or so it’s said
a worker that took too much
too many breaks
too many handouts
too many quiet moments alone in the shop bathroom
but i never found much value in it:
this grey work
and now that I’m less now that I’m little more than a breath
they say very little or nothing at all
there is a new worker much like me
or so it would seem
they communicate with this worker by teletype
or post-it
or whistle
or text
or email
they communicate with this worker the way a bit communicates with a horse
my unincorporated tongue itches at the thought
the worker hears bells in his-her ears
[everything sounds that way eventually]
the worker’s hands are numb
[everything feels that way eventually]
the worker has a landlord that looks like a rotund tick the landlord comes on Wednesdays mostly to gawk at the worker
to peer inside to stand over the worker like a satisfied cat
when the worker goes to work the landlord sniffs at the
windows says, it smells like weed and hot garbage
in there if the worker is a day late with the rent the landlord
leaves dead possums on the porch if the worker is a week late with the rent the landlord
pisses in the the mailbox if the worker is a month late with the rent the landlord
brings a shotgun and threatens to kill the dog
the bosses are ashen and soft like a post meteor dinosaur their hands turn to
milk late at night there are different kinds of bosses unit bosses
shift bosses plant bosses the bosses
speak only in blue black or red
ink
the bosses and the landlords are incapable of death
they are death
eventually and this is the way it always goes that worker becomes
little more than a breath when there is no more labor left to sell
the bosses clear out the worker’s locker
the landlord clears out the house
then there is another worker with a bit in the
mouth
and a possum on the porch
Image by Collective 17.
