“Grab a Snack, Enjoy the Space,
But if You’re Not Supporting Us,
Time to Split”
I couldn’t loan you a pen if I wanted, which I don’t.
I wouldn’t splash if you were on fire, which
I wish you were. It’s not that war, you know?
It’s just peace, love, and passive-aggressive.
Peace, love, and fifteen years ago.
Peace, love, and everyone got a job
but me. Buy this peace button before
my eyes stick an elbow in that temple. You don’t know
what it is to have time look like tail lights on a pickup
when you’re just standing there in Albuquerque.
Love has been a four-letter word.
I don’t mean to take this out on you, but
I actually do. This is the only shit that makes
the corner of my lips go sky. The crease
in your khakis put a thumbtack in my heart. That fedora
has my whole face in granite mode. I’m not loaning you a pen.
The other workers stole the pens.
You know who works here? Bums.
You know who hates ‘em? Me. You don’t
know the wars I fought. The shit people left
on my front walk. No broom. No bleach.
No… fucking road map! You need to buy a muffin
before my pocketknife buys a kidney. You need never
loiter in this store I own. My hate is fresh out the box.
Refilled more than the ice bin ‘round these parts.
You wouldn’t know a god damn thing about yesterday.
You and your umbilical cord. You’re just gonna sit there
and write about me? Gonna get specific on that notepad
not three feet from my cash register? Where I work?
Which smells like dirty sock every day?
I’d tell you to get quiet for the banjo and bongo on stage
but I hate that shit too. Banjos and fabricated customers
are a renewable resource ‘round here. Believe I got a great lake
of attitude out back. I dare you to love me.
I axed that branch from my tree decades ago.
Sixty strong. This has always been what it is.
Take this iced coffee with extra stink, and don’t even think
about turning around to watch me die.