Wednesday, May 21, 2014

poem of the day 05.21.14


blomfield always comes in
when there’s five minutes left in the day

when i think i’m just about done
with the pain and the agony
of public servitude

there comes blomfield right through my doors

he’s always dressed the same
no matter the weather

black skull cap
diarrhea green army field jacket
baggy jeans that look like he crapped himself

sparkling white sneakers

yes, i’ve examined blomfield from head to toe
because some hatreds must be
engrained in the memory to truly blossom

he always wants something from me
a newspaper that’s a week old
a phone number to be looked up
keys to use the bathroom until the very last minute
to peruse the magazine racks
or just to walk around the building for the final five

i used to think they were up to something
that the big wigs sent blomfield down here
like some sort of secret shopper

now i just think he’s deranged

the rest of my co-workers are scared of him
it’s understandable when blomfield is wearing
his heavy army jacket in eighty-degree heat

we’ve been trained in america
to hate what we don’t know
what he can’t understand

but i don’t hate blomfield for his coat
or his skull cap or his jeans or his sneakers

for the fact that he never seems to labor or sweat

i hate him simply because he’s the last impediment
in the way of me getting back to my life

he’s the train or bus that i’ll miss
he’s the drink that i’ll have five minutes later or the couch
he’s the meal that i’ll burn thinking about how bad i hate him
the restless sleep that i’ll have


standing there reading fliers
for kid’s magic shows and free math tutoring
at one minute til the hour

checking his watch until the very last second
that he knows we’re open

before he exits the doors
to stand outside looking both ways

scanning the street for a block party
or a community board meeting

wondering whom in the hell to torture


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