time
time time
will this ache go ever on?
my feet (no arches)
trudge circles on the linoleum
evening shift

i lift milk, i bag, i feed the hungry
meaning hungry between work
and home and wherever else –
i don’t care enough to ask

this time stays mine
mine
mine
heat-pressed and
spit out on receipt
after receipt

my fingers caked with
fruit juice and fear
scramble through codes –
weight of a plum
numbers of navels
steps to get to the mattress

where i’ll hear my heart
in the springs and warm myself
with a scorched spine
crack crack
crack

bones never heal
and muscles go broke
merely pulling up prices

air tinged in rosemary
hot oil on chicken
as i suck on popcorn kernels
during a quick 15

i can’t watch them queue in line anymore
feed the people
with food i can’t afford
and a skeleton that’s
moved at this pace
since age 17

at least there’s still time
to pursue those dreams
dreams!
whatever the hell
that’s supposed to mean