One time, I was told to line up.
Our ties were removed by absent hands
with long, bored fingers
then, we washed dirty steel liars
as November Christmas parties dwelled,
with dutiful service and cheer expected,
and old doomed lipstick smears,
The kind that never scrub out.
and plates and bowls and cups falling.
And slow rolling firefly lights - 70s disco too,
sad and unfulfilled, jolly in defiance
made the task a little difficult,
and short notice didn’t help.
I was charged by questions from idle minds,
i was unable to do the simplest thing,
like open a safe,
like answer a dull enquiry,
like wash dishes sufficiently,
like read a book on the bus,
like rest my feet,
like roll a cigarette,
like pour a pint,
like smile, and really mean it.
One time, I looked up to the auburn and distant sky,
and saw yea-saying grins with simple lies,
and the voice of God in their troubles,
and Lethe stillness with zero hour contracts,
waving with a happy grin,
with a gun-finger,
pointing straight at me,
as they asked:
“Sorry to be a pain, but are you free?”
Apparently, I could turn them down.
Good luck with that.