Trauma
Buried under trauma
Every war
Every impoverished neighborhood
Every ****
Every child abused
Every act of police brutality
Every act of aggressive greed
plants the seed
For trauma that feeds upon itself
And ***** out more trauma

Crush my last
Burnt cigarette out
Now the only the cold
cloud that comes out
Is my soft curling breath
But the trick is
I need that nic stick
To stay awake even though
I don’t even smoke
One month gone
And I come home
But before too long
I’m back on the road
I miss my friends
I miss my love
But staying put
Is never good enough

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

I miss my love
I miss my heart
You were the best
Or at least better part
Bleeding veins
Beating ventricle
Pumping pulse
That is musical
A pen, a pad
And a laptop to
To write this song
I sing for you
And even if
No one hears it
I’d still have to
Write this ****

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

A couple hundred mile
And I am wearing down
As I work security
In another town
My car is smoking
My car sounds funny
Chugs along with
A thud thud dud
Hope I make enough money
To fix my freedom ride up
I’ll see you all when I get home

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

Don’t you know
Even roaming hearts
Have to come home
To get some good sleep

I thought that she was not a child
With brazen blonde hair
Blowing every where
The fully firm and formed body
Of a woman
Stirring my desire
Silver eyes mysterious
Talented and desirous
Causing such a rising
Until I realized
Behind those eyes
May lay decades of wisdom
But only an adolescence
Of experience

I make deals with dictators,
then try to steal elections days later,
cause I'm a ***** with a micro ****.

I'm not big on cooperation
with democrats and foreign nations
unless they say, “that I am great.”

I can't denounce white supremacists
or understand why it gets so many ******
when I say “they are fine people.”
implying by denying that
Nazis and proud boys aren't evil.

I do not trust a happy day
My mind recalls past patterns
And each time hope has come my way
Peeking past life’s parted veil
Singing songs of sweet tomorrows
The weeks that come are always hell
As are the all the years that follow

I do not trust a lover’s promise
For they can be given so easily
I have seen certain hearts shattered
When loving to carefree and happily
I know one cannot pledge eternity
Anything can be broken even the best family

I do not trust a possessor’s passion
Cause in pursuing owner’s pleasures
I have found all things are only passing
For the taking, to give, in the asking
We all tire of the new toy
Sweet things can rot away
Adding one more item to your pile
Won’t save you from your final fate

There is a far darker day ******* me
The shadows tight on my trail
Night will fall sooner than expected
So even when I smile, I do not trust myself
Moods will change, ebbing and flowing
With the winds that keep my armor
Flapping up and down so my scars are showing

The good is just a phase
Then again I could say the same thing
About the bad days coming
Neither are permanent
Only one thing is inevitable

This is the place where I put my truths
A small lock box that **** blocks ignorance
Strands of genetic structured poetry imbedded in
My every blood cell and ligament

This is where all figments go to die
Where all delusions and illusions find their end
Where I bend myself to impossible positions
Like some contortionist magician
To tell you how much I love how much the truth hurts

My history is T.V.
The closest thing
I had to a family
Was sadness
Loneliness
Tangled in strings
Of madness
And dreams

One life missed
Rescheduled to fit
My favorite shows
And the tumor
Of regret grows
As I wrinkle my nose

Skin twitching
Body aching
With isolation
And regret
For lovers never met
Chances never taken
Paths I never walked
Water never treaded

I dreaded real life
Because it hurt so much
All the violence
All the abuse
Took so much
Didn’t leave enough
Wisdom and courage
To hope for happiness

And all the resolve I had left
Was to watch my life
In a funhouse mirror
Playing out weekly
With the tv families

Twinkle, twinkle blinking desire.
Bad habits drink me under the night
slipping and slurring
dripping and turning.
Stomach burning
With acid reflex.

Twinkle, twinkle the stars fade to black
no longer blips in the night
just echoes of static
one less light,
one less firefly flitting in the dark sky,
one more time my mind becomes,
a dark husk.

Till I twinkle, twinkle no more.

They are like magnets
Two broken butterflies
Trying to fly together
In this horrible weather

Weathering the windy storm
Circling each other
Dearly damaged
And so ornately beautiful

White spots speckle their wings
Small orange Rorschach marks
Paralleled in sweet symmetry
Fairy like wings fluttering
One kiss away from their
Last wonderful day

They settle on the same bent flower
Exhausted they end their
Sad love affair
On petals just as damaged as they are

1.

Tears of laughter
Veil tears of frustration
Improper reflection
On taboos and tragedies
Burning cities
And dying loved ones
This is not where the
Laughter comes from
But it is where the laughter
Is needed most


2.
Is it irony
The unexpected juxtaposition
The transition
Of awkward positions
Self-pimping
Prostitution
Of my spirit
Disintegration of my dignity
Jowls dropping
Howling non-stopping
Coping with the insanity of
This world

It was not his fault
That she could not see
The spiraling gas clouds
Swirling in infinity
Strange shades
Of space dust
Sparkling in the
Solar inferno
Pink, orange,
Purple, and green
While comets
Swam in-between

He played in dreams
While she lived
In black and white worlds
Dull and colorless
Rank and hateful realities
Pain for pleasure
Uneven payments
Unfair debt piling up
Heartache so deep
That it blotted out the stars

Bare skinned
Cold and biting
To incinerating
It was exhilarating
Earth came and went
The moon passed him
The sun shriveled in
Creating a hole
To another universe
His mind expanded
Like the last one

She was the last one
He tried to take with him
The last love
He was light enough
To guide her through
Her own abyss
On into
Her own accelerated evolution
Past the white clouds
Of choking pollution
And deep confusion
Tied to lack of introspection

As he journeyed on into
A new universe with a new sun
She stayed behind
And died young
Suffocating in the darkness

We are all space men
traveling
on a spinning rock.


She sits softly
spinning in
the infinite.
Blue ball
clouded and romantic
and I love her.

There were two steel skinned brothers.
One was a passivist
the other a warrior
and wherever they went
they gained followers.

Two righteous brothers
split in their own conflict,
wanting justice,
but unable to work together.

One would sit and meditate
while enemies struck fiercely.
He convinced whole families
to join him
and when he was attacked
they were attacked as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the passivist brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

The other brother
would rage against
the abusive power
battling Knights
and Samurais.
He went wherever
there was oppression,
fighting was his obsession,
and being steel
he did not even feel
the cold hard strikes
of arrows, swords,
and knives.
People would follow him
and when he fought
they fought as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the warrior brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

One street prophet
Screams for god
Hates the ****
One street prophet
Is pushing poetry
The art of love
But you listen
To the hateful one

I never had to hide the fact that I liked that
Never had to cower and feel ashamed
Feel like I had a desire that needed to be tamed
So why the **** do you think
That just because of who someone loves
They should have to suffer that way
----------------------------------------------
Sometimes I don’t know whether to cry
Or to get ******* ******
Is it something that I missed
Is it too hard to be humane
Will being fair and kind
Cause a blood vessel to burst in your brain
And now I find myself at a loss for words
All I can think is **** **** **** **** ****

The roads diverge
merge then re-emerge
somewhere I have never been,
so I follow them,
from the same point of origin
to the same destination
but following impulsive tangents.
The country road novelty
builds new neural pathways.

I know these are not the roads
that my grandpa drove
but I think he did
the same thing.
From the past
I can almost feel
his parallel curiosity.

We are two travelers
in different times
on different roads
with the same heart
to drive away
but always find
our roads homes.

Do not seek to balance me completely
Or sedate me so I submit meekly
I will speak softly ease you gently in
To the new truth we keep forgetting
I am not afraid of uncertainty or ambiguity
Life is not black and white and shades between
It is lush with green foliage
***** brown with earth
Hot and red bleeding lava veins
A sparkling spectrum of all life
Comes from the prism
From great sorrow can come great beauty
If you do not believe me read Poe or Keats
From great pain can come new and returning wisdom
If you do not understand read a book my friend
From all things can come new perspectives
Can come the resurgence the convergence
Of knowledge ever evolving all involving
Loving and preserving
Loving and destroying
To build something new
Or rebuild what we forgot we knew
In my imbalance I am alive
And if you do not have the courage to live so freely
If you are not that greedy
Then I will live it for you
And share things you do and do not want me to
I will be your poetic scapegoat
I will be your teacher
And in my words then in my death
I will be your loving martyr

Pretty eyes,
pretty smile,
pretty hands,
pretty ***;

She handles
all those
compliments
fields all those
unwanted stares.

Some young guy
says something nice,
but when she doesn’t
acknowledge him
he calls her a
stuck up *****.

Some one
grabs her ***.

Someone
presses her up
against a wall.

Someone
raises her blouse.

Someone
intrudes
where he is
not meant to.

Now she is awkward.

Now she is uncomfortable,

Now she is untrusting.

Now she doesn’t
want to be beautiful.

I’ve been to the ledge,
looking into an abyss
certain that I
wouldn’t be missed
and even if one person did,
they’d be better off in a world
without me in it.

I’ve seen shadows creeping
while I was almost sleeping
halfway between
waking and a dream,
with a spiderlike scribble
crawling across my blanket
that I couldn’t smash
or even shake off.

I’ve been swept up
in a manic moment,
then began drowning
in an endless pit,
and almost died in it.

So many self-inflicted
near misses, electric,
pill bottle, and razor kisses
but my body insisted
on living when my mind
wanted a quiet end
to the painful buzzing.

Some say it gets better,
and for me it did,
some say all you got to do
is keep trying to live,
some day you will make it.
It’s one struggle at a time.

But sometimes people
go into those dark caverns
and never come back.
It’s not a beautiful death
just a tragic final act.

-2021

They split
the splendor,
hurt mother nature,
grabbed and slaughtered
her bright red, and green
bedded daughter.

They cut down
the tall brown,
broke with burning blasts
the bulging bottom
of the beige mountains
that were snowcapped.

They painted in plain mortality,
stained that verdant quality
of waving grasslands
that expands
before the curious swarm
of a young humanity.

They cracked the crust
beneath us
causing the gas
to come rushing up
and poison us.

So, now we weep
salty sea tears
tainted by oil spills
and dead otter bodies.

Till, at last
when all those
tragedies have passed
when stillness reigns
in our place
we are disgraced
and displaced
by our self-inflicted
genocide.

The poet philosopher is more daring by far. For their is no par to hit, no height to attain or place where he/she may fit. All there is, is to see, feel, breath, think, and write it.

If skin color, place of birth, politics, or religions is what separates you from a stranger. Then remember your stranger was once a baby, has lost or will lose someone, and they will cry as you do. They will walk awake in mourning as will you, as you do, because they are human to. Syrian, Republican, Dominican, Cuban, American, Conservative, Liberal, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and all variations between and around these distinctions are part of our human family.

Nothing is scarier
then the quiet,

the depths
in which
we buried her,

a house leveled
for destruction,

a mind made
for feats
of masterly
reflection,

but the silence
brings
a sleek streak
of greasy grief.

So, we seek
relief
in a cacophony
of stimuli
facebook,
youtube.

Mind unglued
and brought to
a state of
passive chaos.

Until, the next time
when solitude
dissolves into
a pernicious flea
that is nibbling
on me
leaving
daily droppings,
of filth and doubt.

The dissonance should
splinter your sparkling
billboard reality
as tv images
hyper energize
our innate *** drive
and media moralist
shame said desires.

While your leaders
proclaim a specific faith
but then in turn
spite and debase,
with malice and false claims
anyone who doesn’t
pray each day
the way that they
don’t even pray.

When the main protagonist
in your religious texts
was pretty obviously
anti-capitalist
but your current church leaders
make a killing
selling their parishioners
false promises
of making them
multi-millionaires.

When you
were set up to be
the steward of your society
yet squander
each opportunity
to be more Christ like
cause you have developed
a strong immunity
to reason and logic
which costs us
our humanity.

She wears soft shades
of feathery white
and purple;

A sensual
fantasy
casting a
casual glance
back my way.
An artist’s dream
of strange beauty,

no hair
just more
plumage,

her ornate
tattoos
cause me
to further loose
myself.

An exotic
extra-terrestrial,
a being of
supreme
power
to influence me,

too bad
she does not exist
in reality.

Maybe, she will
visit me
in my dreams.

Sometimes I forget the heart of me; that little boy who dreamed of love and fairness. Sometimes the road darken, the heart is broken, but eventually I come back to the core of me. I am a child of light and love. So come dance the dance of humanity with me, grow and live to see the beauty in truth and our potential. We can be better.

If life is a show,
it is one that
goes with the flow,
growing and retreating
with the seeding
of insights
we are receiving.

Rivers shift, feeding
bigger bodies.
Life is change,
but no one
really taught me
how to accept
that reality.

People come
and go
in and out
of our lives
and periphery,
occasionally
coming in for
a reentry,
then fading
into background
static.

Life is for the living
to grab it,
because death
will not grant us
any grand reprieve,
so all I need
is what I see
to go on existing
whilst being me.

-2021

So, let me explore
this strange metaphor
as massive pieces of meat
circle me
in a banquet of
life’s opportunities.

Sweet and succulent
strips of flesh
that were cooked
and laid abreast
to impress all these guests,
are just beyond my reach.

Should I rush
to stretch my hands
possibly knocking over
other things that stand
in my way
to the dismay
of the other dinner guests?

Or should I wait until
the feast reaches me,
sit patiently scheming
for what I will do
when the beef stew
is within arm’s length?

Will this allow all those
surrounding me
to get their fair share?
Or are the pickings out there
like the ones in here
hoarded by the pre-blessed
bunch of privileged fools
who include me to,
should I flip the table
and let the scraps
scatter where they maycont.
hoping that wherever they lay
they make someone else’s day
a little brighter
by making their poor stomach less lighter.

A sparse field of clouds
circled a splendid moon.
Thin vapors curved around
the moons glorious rainbow aura.

I tried to capture
this spectacular scene
with my phone.
Unfortunately,
that bit of technology
did not detect
and collect
the quality
I was enamored by.

Then I tried to use
a camera that had
been sitting in my car
for over a year.
The first attempt found
that the batteries were dead.
I replaced them
but the camera
still could not capture
the rapture
of this fabulous
lunar sight.

With only two minutes
until I had to clock on
I gave up on
this moon I had
set my sights upon
and disappointedly
clocked in at
ten fifty-three.

In my life I have felt the bitterl lashes of despair. I have  walked in and out of the shadows of pain. I harbor not grand hope for a spiritual salvation, so in order to make my life count for something I have to be great, and I will.

I got a multi colored lite brite like memory
that comes and goes slipping pass my past
tripping me up until I switch memory lanes
from fast and slow
letting go then going back
picking a field of lemon and strawberry details.
Till, I can partially recall who I used to be.

The flame of madness
cracked and expanded,
holds hearts unplanted,
soil sick with slick
mind worms that take
turns gnawing through
the muck and the goop,
and the rotting wood to,
seeing moods shift from
angry, sad, then numb
to become all spent up
without any passions left.

Palestinian
children
and women
attempt to
protest apartheid,
fighting against
those borders and walls,
walking towards boundaries
where snipers sit
settled in
to shoot the innocent,
and continue
freedom's infringement.

Soldiers fire to take
the lives of those
they dehumanize.
Two thousand
are wounded
and fifty plus
dead.

My government is complicit
in these illicit
acts of violence.
We support and supply
the horrible ordinance
used to brutalize
and end those unfortunate lives.
Our politicians
spin blood red threads
into golden ***** lies
and celebrate the bad guys
who have no intention
of compromising,
the ones who
go on occupying
and terrorizing the Palestinian people.

Meanwhile,
state supported
media guys,
are televised
to tell us lies,
go on air
to share a side
that shames
and blames
the victims of
new atrocities,
by their favorite
allies,
repeating
reports of agitation
incited by
Hamas,
but no one on
the Israeli side
was wounded
or died.

Religion is no longer
the ****** of the masses
Now the crowd
collects digital devices
Small screens
With gaming fantasies
No time to think
Just stay linked
Plugged in
To the distraction system
Bionic Bluetooth ears
Cellphones, tablets, and laptops
Connected to the four gigged network
Subdued in red eyed wonder
Burning retinas
Eyes strained beyond
Our capacity to remember
Real human pain
We are numbed to our neighbors
Awash in constant stimulus
Sounds like stimulants
Where only electronic static
reminds us to remember reality

I sit observing all those strangers scurrying from events occurring during the day. Still stuck in place, I guard this space securing the most unsecured spots. In a daze I look away to see nature ruling the distant landscape.
Trees with no leaves only spindly fingers form wooden web like structures, competing for space with their sisters and brothers who sport full bodied broccoli colors. White cumulus clouds streak across a turquoise sky racing other grayer layered stratus and cirrus vapors. I long to follow, flying as fast or faster than those amorphous beauties.

My pupils contract coming back quickly so I can focus on where my attention is supposed to be. However, my mind wanders and my eyes follow. Weird humming wires bisect the skies. Gone for a moment, I force myself to return.

I hear next to nothing. My sight affirms said silence. Closer than my cloudy kin a flattop building mimics blacktop shapes and colors. Cars clutter the cigarette strewn parking surface. The gravely parking lot cracks like a fault line leaving little fractures where thin green plants perk their heads up and out, sprouting from the concrete covered earth.

Near day’s end I find my focus again. Strange reflections wobble in dark windows as employees drive in to replace their almost friends. The shift ends and I follow strangers out. The herd thins as we diverge on different streets taking our own roads home. Nature follows me back to the hotel sweet, then to sleep, and finally into my dreams.

A little smile and conversation,
it doesn’t last very long
cause the strangeness in my personality
makes this woman just move on.

Now the sun is slowly rising
as this night comes to an end
you know it wasn’t that surprising
to see her leaving with her friends

Another heartbreak in the notebook
another antacid accident
acid building up inside me
cause it’s a temperamental life
that breaks me like a bull
so it can grind and ride me

So I shake off the dusty road
with thirty seven years behind me
and wait for the sun to fall again
just to feel the cool night wind.
I didn’t really care for the bar scene
but it’s hard to pick up women
at your local library.

Life is chaotic
Uncomfortable
Incompatible
With stagnation
Constantly changing
Direction
Changing truths
Impossible becomes
Fact
Star trek fiction
Becomes reality

Do not wait for me.
As troubling as it may seem
I babble on
breaking brooks
in my stone laden
dreams.

Do not stop
or slow a step behind.
Please proceed.
I hope you find
the peace of mind
that eludes me.

Do not carry me
when I fall.
For I am far to broken
and each shard
of my being
is a dangerous thing
made of
silver and sterling
nighttime daydreams.

Do not worry,
I was in no hurry.
While you rushed into
the death you thought you knew
I stayed behind
to enjoy this time of mine.

Do not look back.
Fear finds its own facts
and sadly I lack
that spark which knows eternity.
Unfortunately, there is only me
here in the moment
on my mud rock
that pirouettes space.

Do not stop.
Go on and rush to death
because heaven or hell
awaits your final breath.
I don’t mind
keeping my heaven and hell here.
Whilst you wither and disappear
I’ll enjoy the crystal clear
running water,
the clean skies,
the beautiful animals
that you cannot take with you
when you die.

Do not worry one bit.
I got this.
Just go on my dear
I’ll rest right here
because this is such
a sweet and wonderful
but one time only life.

It was an obsession,
illegal possession
of the love drug connection
driving her into
criminal intent.

She assumed by his promises
she owned him
all affection shown him
all ****** gratification
grinding deep into
her chemical brain.

But then came
that chemical pain
rejection
subtraction
from the satisfaction
of knowing with certainty.

Possessing little sanity
she drove metal nails
up and down
the red paint
of his ford truck.

Empowered by passion
she pushed past him
pounding until the
pulpy flesh
of his favorite pet
plastered her nail bat.

It went farther than that.
With a gun to his back
she pierced his heart.
The pumping stopped.
Then she put the barrel
up to her head,
pulled the triggered.
Until, she too was dead;
finally, free from
her obsession.

Who knows what thoust sees when thou lookest upon the sea.
No fragrant flowers wafting sweet perfume
No open fields full of **** born mushrooms
No sunny days where lovers pray to play their ****** part
Display their desirous heart naked and blushing
Not from shame but from such pleasurable exertions
No fairytale creatures like unicorns, elves, or hobbits
No dragons with emerald scales to catch and claw
Devouring my flesh
No fantastic sea serpent
Ready to rend the ships to pieces

It is a gush
of cultish greed
that sees me seed
these gray streets
with cement
and litter.

Searching for
the stars that glitter
in commercials
and window shops,
the tyranny
of humanity
swells in my heart.

Callus to the collective
because of the things
I seek to collect.

Then with each purchase,
and each pleasure pill
I use to conceal
the depths of
what I truly feel
I lose
a piece of
the empathy
I once cherished
and loved.

Till, my leather worn face
turns bitter
and the last of my humanity
escapes me
because of poor scheduling.

The roads of my memory
are muddy wet and slippery.
Brown flecks fly up my back tire
staining my raggedy blue jeans.
Frequently my loose laces
or torn pant legs
get stuck in the pedals
pulling and wrapping themselves
around a thin cylinder of metal
until I cannot pedal anymore.
So, I unthread the impediment.

A wind presses hard
pushing me towards
a neighbor’s damp grassy yard.
Instead of battling
this solid gust
I turn around and let it
drive me forward.
For a few minutes
I fly like superman
speeding down
this small town road.

The cloudy grey skies
drop their salty load
letting lightning loose as well.
My legs pump fast
as the thunder blasts
even louder.
I slide the two wheeled
rusted wonder
into my grandma’s garage.
Then I begin to unplug
everything from the outlet,
though she is pretty lenient
she is strict about that.
Finally, I ride out
the rest of the night
inside
till bedtime.

This is not a love poem
Or an infatuation poem
This is a mad respect poem
Not wanting to own or dissect poem
But a poem of true appreciation
For present and future enlightenment

I feel the energy
It’s poetry
In harmony
With me
Inner waves
Going separate ways
But coming together
In my typing
It’s new age old day
Mingles with today
Oh boy
What can I say
It’s the greatest high
And I love to fly
That way

It is too late in life
for me to join the night
and be a beautifully brooding poet.

It is too far down the line
and I am too rigid in my mind
to be open to that world.

So, I come to the open mich to speak,
breath and read my carefully crafted masterpiece
just so I can have the pleasure
of finishing up and leaving when I please.

On Sunday the world was
wonderful,
brightly colored,
so full of hope and purpose.

On Monday my mind menaced me
with painful memories
accompanied by
terrible mood swings.

Tuesday was exhausting
and empty.
I was a shell of apathy.

With enough caffeine,
Wednesday was
magnificent for me.

Thursday, Friday,
and Saturday
seemed to be ok.

Sunday seemed to stray
halfway into
a very dark place.

Then when Monday returned
my heart burned
partly in pain
and partly in rage.

We write our regrets in stone
Monuments meant to recognize
Those who will no longer
Be in our lives
Tears of heartache mark
These harsh days
The cruelest and only real fate

What weary traveler wanders slowly down a worn and dusty road. Knowing that it has been year since anyone last traversed these dangerous trail. Still he dares to bare the burden of clearing this once wondrous street of debris, so that those who wish to walk this road once more can do so unafflicted by dark memories of the struggle once undertaken on this path before.

2010

What a beautiful man
a character in muted colors
speaking Shakespeare’s words.
I covet the players coven
a place where such wonders
where made manifest,
where actors did their best
to express in proper parlance
past prose and poetry.

What a fine figure
full of creative vigor
that speaks loudly
marking lines with fierceness
and a slight playful puckish
variety.

What a time to relish
spoken forms
the theater
worn for such
vocal storms
and I am in love
not a ****** decree
but an infatuation
founded upon
the wonderous creativity
of this sweet performer
before me.

Weird yellow lines mark
the grey sparkling floor.
Lighter grey garage doors
roll open to export more
manufactured goods.

Plastic particulates
plaster the yellow painted
blocking fences that
keeps fumbling fools
from stumbling through.

Yellow metal monstrosities
powered by small black batteries
chase their own blue lights
seeming super sentient
with an electric consciousness.
They beep hard backing up
and plowing forward
with packed boxes of
clear plastic cups
coming from the factory floor.

Smokers come and go
in and out of
the glass double door
in a blur of blue hats
lunch lady hairnets
earplugs and safety glasses
ending the day
exhausted and underpaid.