Eight to whatever shift
it all feels so endless
as he works the grill.

Poor sore foot,
swollen in pain.
Blisters bubbles up
from the soul.

So, he goes
to the place
were the food
is kept frozen,
slips
his black crew
pair of shoes
off,
and then removes
his black socks.

A patch of ice
feels so nice
that he holds
his hurting feet
on that cold spot
till the pain stops
and then
again until
he can’t take
the frozen ache.

Then he goes
back out
to work some more,
repeating as he needs
when his feet
become sore.