whatever is missing

Make sure you're clocked— 

nevermind. wrong mode 

again. i wake to a knock

on my door and it's a driver

asking why the store is 

locked and dark. i said

i have no idea and please

leave, i have work at 6

and fell back asleep,

imagining the empty

store and the board,

filling up with orders

that no one will see

or receive.

Before you go home,

gather up the trash.

hey, here's a spatula.
the butter is looking lean.

i will be the one to retrieve

whatever is missing.

the gab of corporate apology,

i have become fluent.

if you want to get short with me,

i will find myself a stool.

sad to say it 

but anything you throw at me

will be caught in the soapy net

of my burst bubble.

Thank you for all of your hard

rights when the way ahead

looks downright impenetrable,

thank you for showing up

and not throwing up.

thanks to the disappeared,

who know little of the showers

cast down on me. like hell

i'll quit. each day to myself

creates an irreparable distance.

the hum of greasy machines

are the only company

on nights i am summoned

to clear the board alone.