My life is cigarette butts that spread lipstick on my thumb
And shadowed frost heaves keeping the ice cold
Juxtaposed by browned grass and mud slick from early morning Suns
It is clean pressed eight year old pants that fit just wrong and boots with no soles and shredded laces
Because retail means checking your soul at the door
Working at a job that doesn't pay for an education I can't afford not to have
Worried what little old ladies think of stark black ink and buzzed hair and stretched lobes
Because their lips say friendly but their eyes scream judgement
Because I'm a new wave of disaster dressed in liberal ideals and independent actions
Working at a business built on the "Golden Rule"
(I swear, it's in their code of business ethics)
Because when the customer is being treated the way they want to be treated we can charm their money and credit ratings right out of their hands
My life is fire escapes I'm too afraid to climb onto
Because I've learned not to trust federal code enforcement
I've seen it broken and bartered in kitchens and department stores
Just on the side of the line that makes you question how much we can trust those that enforce them
It's not the officials that come for quarterly inspections,
But the hirsute man that mixes pizza sauce with his arms and no gloves
But the woman with the nice voice and rolling eyes trying to trick you into changing a no for a yes so in a year you're spending twice what you are now,
"But I swear sir, the VALUE of this purchase is worth not being able to get a student loan for your daughter with the amount of times your late payments will ping your credit rating"
My life is being taught to lie correctly, with the right tone and smile to completely fuck over a person I don't know because it puts money in the pocket of people I can't stand



April 2015

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