poem of the day 05.21.14

blomfield

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

blomfield

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

next.