“What’s the worst
job you’ve ever had?”
Banter ignites in
a near-empty newsroom
after the paper’s to bed
The hours-long slump
from leaving barbecues,
and family in mid-sizzle
To schlep off to work
recedes to memory like
last week’s mild hangover
The scanner’s crackle
absentmindedly
punctuates trash talk
Waitress, bartender,
lifeguard, cashier;
don’t even bother
Bouncer, boxer
nude model, and —Yes! —
chocolate factory worker
Now we’re cruising
When Grump mentions
driving a Philly cab
One Labor Day
and getting stabbed
twice in one shift
“I would have called
it a night after
the first stabbing.”
BS antenna droop
to half-mast in honor
of the dues we pay