A Day in the Life (V. 2.55)
It is 11:10 in Lakeland, a Tuesday,
two days after the World Series,
it is 2012 and I brush my teeth pearl white,
because I will get off the cozy couch in my abode
at 1:15 and then go straight to work,
and I don't know who will buy my chicken.
I walk up the freezing, tree lined, dead end street
and open the mailbox with my small golden key
a stack of unwanted bills and political ads
greet my blue oil pocked hands.
I go on to my deli
and Miss. Calmwater (first name Bernice I once heard)
doesn't even tell me to cut the salami thinner.
And, I ponder O'Keefe.
I exhibit the slice.
or did I re-imagine film-scenes from the Artist,
that dog stole the show, and made me smile; or
was I thinking about which friends I would call,
the images were practically lulling me to sleep,
salami on my slicer,
a pound and a half
customer wanted
a half ---oops..
And then I am asked to help Ms. Cherry
I tread on to the kitchen tamultously
but my feet slip, Chaplinesque, from the grease
spilled onto the floor.
I wake up from my dream,
of Central School's playground and the smell of
caged turkeys being processed.
I smile... and stab the dead chickens.
And Bernice is mad that the chickens are only
half cooked.
"Can't he do anything right?"
And I am sweating a lot, because it is time to go
home (my wife, a glass of wine, a nice wet dream),
and there is so much to clean;
Patsy Kline sings the lines to Crazy
written by Willie Nelson.
I push my broom faster,
flattening the bristles.
I imagine my manager saying,
"Can't you do anything right?"
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