paycheck

Eyes red, bleeding inside Like I worked a damn day. I did. I sat like a squeaky robot Knees creaky, wrists carping, elbows rusted joints arranged according to company policy. Knuckles cracked on their keyboard, at their labor. I think that they think that I think that I walked off the victor, because today is a Friday and they owed me money. And I got it. But it’s not the good kind of getting what you’re owed, like on the big screen, where you’ve got the Louisville slugger and the guy has the whimpering fear. It’s the other kind, the kind where you wake up sweating about an empty envelope and an HR lady who has heard it all before, heard every idiot fret out an hour behind that company grin. And that is the real question, better Than “to be or not to be” Or “am I my brother’s keeper” Or even “what does it all mean?” The real question You ask into the mirror with Eyes wide and reddening is "“What am I going to pay the lawyer with If they don’t give me my paycheck?”