GH O TI

f i sh

Issue No. 2

Summer Job

While my manager chain-smoked her Camels  
in the closet,
I rubbed my knuckles to an icy raw
against the stainless steel freezer case,
leaning in
to scrape out the buckets
for one scoop or two,
the line trailing out the door.

Money changed hands between me
and the insatiable beast,
its tail always regenerating,
its head reddened, balding, always
in my face, making demands,  

while outside in the streets,
the parking meter
was busy running out of magic again, my car
without the inner resources
or good looks
to talk its way out of a ticket,
my wages not enough to pay the fines.

On breaks, I was the glutton
eating scoop after scoop, drinking
thick malts until my head ached.
I was the soda jerk,
the proverbial fool who would be damned
not to get his fill.

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