Back when I worked at my first job, Piggly Wiggly,
I used to stock shelves and bag grocery, staring at
the endless items sliding down the cash register, as
I grabbed each one, placing them into the bag, my restless
eyes fading every approaching hour, counting the time
ticking on the clock, wondering if I could accelerate it
to me working on my masterpiece, dabbing in the thick
gooey paint with my long, thin brush, watching the glossy
paint, as it made spectacular colors in the nighttime sparkle,
much like exploding fireworks lighting up the starry sky,
illuminating the fire inside my soul, flashing lights guiding me
to my new escape, but I was far from freedom, pushing carts after carts, strolling back and forth with grocery bags in my hands, stacking them into different vehicles, my life declining, unbalanced, broken languages, everything disconnected, while the evening faded into nightly duties, cleaning and mopping, scanning aisles and fronting items, sweeping the scattered leaves from trees across the pavement, stuck in a prison, surrounded by disappointment. I drifted, post cleanup at Carolina Mudcats at nights after a game, had me in a whirl wind speeding off course into alternate wrecked worlds, empty beating rhythms, trailing up and down bleachers and sidewalks, picking up filthy trash, like I was a ***** old man confined to these meaningless duties, forced to carry on the same everyday life until something better came along. And at Walmart, I worked in remodeling, spraying wet shiny paint on cash registers, its surface a sleek finishing glow, hauling debris after debris into overcrowded dumpsters, sweaty hands and a soggy face was all that was left of me at the end of a long day’s work, familiar voices echoing in the back of my head – these are the working days that will never fade away.
