Thinking of guns
my mouth, the trigger
the pull the jerk
and the silence
as i sit exhausted
with a bummed smoke
staring at milk cartons
and dirty floors
the boss asks, "Are you tired?"
as i pace myself to ensure
the dirty dishes last eight hours
the Chinese ladies
whisper in conspiracy
and motion slowly
my girl, long lines under eyes
stares blankly wiping queen maries
with yellow towels
i stand pushing dishes
into a long silver machine
the boss flits about.
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