Tag: poetry

You’re my last customer of the year!

Mobil, 4:00PM, 12/29/2023

as you cross a border you realize how much you left on the other side. pockets of people remind you of the little things in life. she will come to work next week; what has changed? the antique clock in the back room needs to be physically adjusted — it cannot handle the shift of the season. like dividing by zero, the clock face freezes, unwilling to continue, unable to comprehend. the cuckoo sings to itself. when the sun rises, the truckers line up for their coffee, now one year old.

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See, when the restaurant seats two people at a place for four people, during the rush hour, you know they’re going out of business!

California Pizza Kitchen, 1:00PM, 11/24/2023

the cafe shutters its windows and chains the doors. you used to work there, and i used to order the simplest drinks and pretend that they were spectacularly made. now in place of the latte swans lies a stretch of dust, hold the sugar. i like to imagine someone will buy the land and convert it into a forest. one of the workers is allergic to pollen, i remember. stuck in the heart of the city is the best place for her. count the crows on the parkway — they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot…

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Coaches are giving too much info. We just need them to figure it out! Two new plays and a whole new group of defenders come out and get the ball…

Starbucks, 2:00PM, 12/2/2023

just from the phrase, nothing is revealed. the sport remains elusive; the magnitude remains hidden from view. a new year brings a new list of expectations, but what do you do when the expectations exceed reality? i look you in the eye and tell you not to smile, but your eyes betray you. is it the universe hidden behind your iris, or is it glaucoma? as you blink, a third play — a tear.

the tide crashes against the mountain. the wolverine peeks out from beneath the storm. day has its eyes, night has its ears; up above, the howl of a husky splits the sky into two.

Don’t take more than one cookie, there are a lot of kids that are going to come in!

No, I’m just putting one in here and saving it for later. Don’t worry, my mom taught me better.

Ypsilanti Freight House, 5:00PM, 11/26/2023

when we are young, morality is measured by the wrath of our mothers. does it ever outgrow us? perhaps it takes the form of an instinct. nature is temporary; nurture is permanent. we go out of our way to change our bodies, yet we falter at the hands of the past. a friendship, a lover, a traumatic event — we used to cry, do you remember? now your tear ducts are swollen shut and your makeup masks the bruise.

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What about this? [holds up a Hot Wheels toy]

This won’t work. We gotta think of something that he won’t put in his mouth.

Kroger, 5:30PM, 12/14/2023

the world is transformed for two months into a tint of red and green. a holiday is meant to be shared, not enforced, yet the wreaths are strung with purpose. ornaments surge forward, cleaving the branches of a leafy sea. my skin pebbles into cold bumps, like paint dried too quickly. red for fury, green for jealousy… compliments or complements? it’s impressive how there is always something worse to say. how deep you can sink a knife depends on the length of the handle and the angle of the words uttered. soft, slanted, backhanded — wait for christmas day and unwrap what you wish for.

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The first time I came here I saw a line outside and I was like “Nope! I’ll come back another day!”

Daiso, 2:00PM, 12/16/2023

how intimate the act of gift giving can be! i am an isocline, a gradient, a slope of feelings. what sits under the tree is a pile of presents, a heap of debts uncollected. happiness cannot be bought, you say, but you swipe your credit card on the gifts anyway. rent your affections by the hour! which is the greater treasure, the present or the company? separate yet intertwined, one must exist in the scope of another. there is no price tag on the pleasure of love: one is measured in dollars, the other in beats per minute.

He’d say something horrendous and then turn and look at me and be like “right?” Um, no??

– Mosher-Jordan Dining Hall, 12/1/2023

humans are strange creatures. with which other species is the support of one is enough to guide the gaze of a hundred? we come up with words and use them to convince others that the words we utter are true. have you ever met a false preacher? don’t let the robe deceive you — as harry frankfurt says, bullshit is not false, but phony. you flop like a fish out of water. are you acting to sell, or are you selling your act?

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We can style people’s hair but we have to have neutral hairstyles ourselves.

Exactly, it doesn’t make sense. The times are changing…

In-N-Out, 1:30PM, 12/12/2023

i meet you outside the gates of the airport. for some reason, i was afraid i wouldn’t recognize you. you’d cut your hair, i noticed. i later learn that this was in a time of crisis. why wasn’t i there to support you? i was scared. your face splits my vision, like a crystal of ice in the sunshine. emeralds glisten. i reach out to grab them — your hands, your gemstones — and they are cold, impossibly so. my fingers burn. you melt away and stain the epoxy, streaks of luggage mixed with strands of your hair.

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Yeah, I’m a senior this year.

How’s that going?

It’s pretty busy… when I’m not at school or working I hang with my friends a lot… my mental health is basically dependent on being able to see my friends, so I’m not home a lot, I know my mom doesn’t like that…

Hong Kong Gifts, 12:00PM, 12/16/2023

a quiet disconnect from reality. i am four again and watching from waist-height as high school students sip and chatter away. time passes through a polaroid: oblique, grainy, heavily accented. i remember sitting at a cafe and watching a young child stare. i was that student once, just once, before i met you. perhaps i stared my way into your life, just as your eyes stared their way into mine. friends, lovers, students, mothers. i am four again, but this time i look away.