Donna Dallas

For fucks sake
stop ragging on us little people
that don’t cut your paychecks
if I did I’d cut them short
you get to work every day past 9am
a lazy slacker who doesn’t give a shit about their job

I’ve worked to pay my route
there’s no other way
McDonald’s
7-11
Dunkin’ Donuts
I cleaned
waited tables

I got that paycheck
it’s mine
to spend to no end
or say fuck it and give to charity

people get a job
it helps to heal

I feel alive
like I woke from the dead
stumbled out
bone legs
grainy hands
petrified ribs
worms fall from my hair
stagger
long for wet lips
can’t recall
what sweaty palms feel like
or itchy ears
the old wives’ tales that signal
this thing
inside of us
we’ve no control over
yet yearn for it later

When signatures are scrawled
on every page marking
every year… every death
and every dollar
When checks are cut
and we amicably shake hands
our eyes glimpse
the waves under each other’s souls
Here’s a page we didn’t write into the script…
the mark of
… End …
We sit mad
with fear in the hopes
we did the right thing
although we were doing the right thing
yet it wasn’t quite right
not exact
but what is exact and perfect and so
magnificent that we couldn’t get to?
Nothing
will ever compare to your solid
and strong body
holding me in the dead of night while I cried
of a fear
that I only now
understand as regret
back then
those nights wasted
thinking it will always be