Wednesday, June 1, 2016

poem of the day 06.01.16

the closer

i tell you
i don’t like him
and he doesn’t like me
we’re two more people in a land of division
who do not get a long
i guess it’s a shame
but he always comes in at the last hour
when my ass is almost kicked
from dealing in eight hours of bitching and complaining
by joe q. public all day
the way he glares at me is priceless
i’ve had women look at me that way
before they’ve told me to go
he wants the financial times
always the financial times
and i’d like to shove it up his ass
then he sits there with it
like a lost financial wizard
his gray tongue licking his yellow fingers
turning the gray pages of the financial times
like he’s bill gates checking his net worth
or that asshole who owns amazon.com
wondering what institution to buy next
as my hours click down on another day
sometimes i watch him as he reads
purposeful like he has all the time in the world
occasionally looking at his watch
to gauge the time
the son-of-a-bitch
he has all day to come in here and act the master of the world
i know it
because i see him on the street sometimes
pacing with coffee or a slice of pizza
berating some chinese lady for getting in his great white way
but he’s one of those kind
someone the world owes something too
our time
our hours
lending our ears for his bullshit
our waning minutes of servitude at his beck and call
the financial times folded neatly and handed to him
once i went into a liquor store at the last minute
for a bottle of vodka
but that was desperation
this…i don’t know what this is
antagonism as street performance?
the outer cosmos of privilege and entitlement?
counting down to the last minute
before he gets up from his rickety throne
and brings the paper back to me
unfolding it sometimes
checking one last article in the financial times
warren buffett in poor man’s clothing
mark zuckerberg in a torn mets hat
running down the last seconds
tossing the paper on my desk
like a used whore
then shuffling hands in pocket whistling a tune
right out of the building
without a thank you
or even a goddamned goodnight.


                                                           

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