A Tuesday Night’s Shift Haul

poem, poems, poetry, writing

Working until 2 A.M.

Mopping a blood stained

Potato peeled floor.

 

To supplement my basement

Kitchen, I’m pinchin’:

 

3/8th’s of a plastic bear shaped bottle of honey.

I have the tea.

I have the coffee.

I have a tea bag that looks like metal tongs.

Made of bulbous, Iron-mesh bongs.

½ a liter of bread crumbs from the dry storage.

0% alcohol proof and 100% mouse proof.

Transported in a ½ liter plastic TAKE-OUT container.

The type with the snap on roof.

The same in which I should send up the daily soup.

 

One oversized coffee mug.

Deep metal blue with white flecks.

The type a WWII soldier would shoulder.

Item #703 Made in China.

Later I will ascertain

It can contain

An entire pot of coffee

From my home-brewer.

 

New York flat iron steaks, vacuum packed and sealed together.

Dijon mustard, honey, and breadcrumb encrusted.

Sprawled across the line.

Laid in long interwoven rows.

Wrapped in a fluorescent shine.

Looking like a machine gun belt;

A piece of me explodes.

 

Working until 2 A.M.

Mopping a blood stained

Potato peeled floor.

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