poem of the day 02.16.11

wish it were mine

the men at the wine store
on seventh avenue
have stacks of boxes everywhere

they are stocking new bottles of wine
like madmen

i look around the store
there is just one woman and i

what’s the rush? i think
as they slam bottles into round slots

i remember the years working
for a wine store in buffalo

stocking the shelves
cleaning up huge spills of the grape

helping lonely secretaries pick out
magnum bottles of yellow tail shiraz
in order to help them kill another
empty friday night

wearing a dirty green polo shirt
and stained kakis every day

mostly i remember working for men of small minds
and small ambitions

wondering how it was that i got
out of bed each day to face them

today two women talked my ear off
for six straight hours

i suppose it’s better now, i think
grabbing two bottles of cheap chianti

but better is a relative term
as i’ve learned over the years

one of the men from the wine store
shoves a last bottle in
then goes into the stockroom to grab a shovel

wait, wait, the other guy says when he comes back
he’s probably the boss
he look like a boss

where are you going?

to shovel that last bit of snow and ice

look, the boss tells the guy with the shovel
this is new york city
you got to be a little bit tougher than this

but that guy, the other one starts

fuck him, the boss says

he could’ve been decent
he clearly saw the we were getting a huge order here

so what if he has to park somewhere else
and step over a little bit of melting ice to get to the bank

shoveling that ice is the bank’s job
and you never should’ve offered to do it
on my time, the boss says
leaving his box of wine
and following me up to the register

tell him to get fucked, the boss tells
the employee with the shovel
who still goes outside
to clean up the ice and snow

then he turns to me

well, what kind of a day are you having, pal?

one like yours, i tell him
putting the wine bottles on the counter

the boss man shakes his head and smirks
yeah?
well i still wish it were mine.