Convenience Story (dying for minimum wage)

The mountain cuts a Gothic pose
against lichen smothered memories
myth and smoke mingle
in a place where the gun is dipped in alcohol
until it’s wiped clean of conscience
aimed with rages of the ages
jiggling trigger digit
makes an insolent mug shot
chin up
chip on the shoulder
poke in the air
metal powder tease
the twisted taker evaluates his company
a diminutive matter selling gas and cigarettes
now a crouching ball of terror
falling by the wayside of a safe passage
to the back side of the graveyard shift
the cradle of the manifestation of his worst nightmare
reflected mortality in the iris of a tragic end
in the aisle next to the potato chips
and Pepsi

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Author: valo

I am a poet, writer and activist with a special interest in human rights for children and women as well as the elimination of poverty worldwide. If you read this today, feed someone locally for me will you? Drop off a non perishable food item at the food bank nearest you and consider yourself hugged. Thank you!

4 thoughts on “Convenience Story (dying for minimum wage)”

  1. Val, the line “reflected mortality in the iris of a tragic end”, that is some powerful phrasing there. The whole piece has the implicity of the surreal with a very real sense of impending doom. The strange sense of hopelessness and fear are oddly and tangibly captured as only truth is capable of doing. I think this work is great and the train ride with Roberta, how funny! Loved it.

    1. Hi MarkT, it’s good to see you here again! Thank you for feeling the truth in my words. I wish it weren’t true and that I could sit and write about butterflies and sunny days, but alas, this world is a rough place and writing about it comes naturally to me. I’m very pleased you liked Roberta and the train. 🙂 Ah, my Ma was a charmer and the stories I could write about that woman would test the backbone of Hercules. lol She was somethin’ and my childhood was a mess all over the map of life. My aim was humour and if it made you laugh, I’ve succeeded!

  2. This brought back memories of my tour of duty at I85 Amoco.
    I had a Vietnam Vet go off on me, he was out there,way out there.
    When he finally settled down there was a big line .
    The 3rd guy up was a ragged looking good ole boy.
    He lays a 6pack on the counter and drawls out this jewel,” eyes in Viet Naam too but I aint no aSShole.”
    I didnt think the other guy was either , he just never left all the way.

    I was just 22 and didnt mind dyin.

    thanks for this and for everything ,you know what I mean 🙂

    1. Indeed I do and there is no need for thanks. Your Amoco tale has fangs my friend, ah the people we meet in daily life will either put steel in your spine or cave in your chest. I also remember being 22, working in a shitty dead end job in the city. I think music and denial kept me alive lol Well, that and the fact that my curly hair was trendy. 😉 Now, go forth and write more brilliance!

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