i’ll miss the liquor
store man
soon to be displaced
for six months or longer
while they repair my office building
i think change is inevitable
i think i don’t like change
it is akin to a certain kind of death
all the new relationships and the scenery
they’re no good for the soul
there is an ease in being stuck
with the same people for eight hours a day
it is a simple, honest hatred
like an old marriage where it’s okay to fart in the bed
like what i have with the liquor store man
high on his perch with his pop music on the radio
the way he never says hello or goodbye
how he casts his judgement down upon me
as i haul another jug of vodka or magnum bottle of wine
into his sphere of influence
there’s a beautiful vulgarity to the way he grabs
the money from my hand and slaps down the change
turns away in disgust as i walk out of the store
i don’t know if i’ll find that anywhere else
i think i’ll miss the liquor store man the most
during this exile
his dead stare and the twinkle
of marquee neon in his eyes
as the sun sets over the elevated d line
and i head home from here
to do the damage once again.
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