queen of jesusland
she comes in
on a hot-ass tuesday in july
she’s looking for you they tell me
when i see her standing there
all sunglasses and frown and crucifix around her neck
and a brand new sexless, menopausal haircut
i know this is going
to be shit right from the start
she says, are you the manager here?
i shrug because i’m not
i have a complaint, she says
of course you do, i tell her
she says, i was in here yesterday
right before you closed but the door was locked
okay, i say. is that it?
she rolls her eyes
there were two of your girls standing in the lobby
they locked the door on me and started laughing
they’re not my girls, i tell her
they’re young woman, college women
don’t put words in my mouth, she says
i wouldn’t dream of it, i tell her
they locked the door on me, she continues
they locked the door and laughed at me
they don’t have keys to the place, i tell her
are you calling me a liar?
no, just that one’s perception of reality
often differs from another’s
plus you’re wrong, i say for good measure
you just called me a liar, she says
i shrug a second time
i want those girls right here, right now
i want you to ask them if they laughed at me
mam, they aren’t here
they have lives outside of this place
i want them written up
i want you written up for hiring such immature girls
women, i remind her
she looks around the office
scanning the joint for a sympathetic ear
i want, she starts
but she says nothing else
but we both know what she wants
she wants the ever-loving apology
she demands humility and satisfaction
she’s rich and white and lives in america
where no wrong, real or otherwise,
will stand if it’s happened to her
she wants to eat sugar and spice
while the rest of us drown in corn syrup and salt
thanking people like her for the privilege
i’ll have your job and theirs for this, she says
then she storms out of the joint
with a righteous broomstick stuck firmly up her ass
her crucifix swinging like a hammer
the queen of jesusland
long live the queen.
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