Labor Day

a poem about my minimum wage past

Photo by Dmitriy Demidov on Unsplash

---

Carolyn worked the register
and loved Billy Joel.
She sang "Piano Man"
while she rolled the pizza
dough and swore
that she'd never eat pizza
again. She was the disciplined
one who loaned us money
when we went broke between
our meager paydays.
She never charged us interest.
John always wore jean shorts
even when he delivered pizzas
in December. He sang well
enough to record vocal
backgrounds for local radio
and TV ads but said 
that he made more money
slinging double pepperoni pies
with extra sauce and cheese.

Hey, boss man, can I get
a raise? Can I get a raise, please?

At the sandwich shop,
Black Mike and White Mike
split the cost of buying
cigarettes and took smoking
breaks together. White Mike
cried when we heard
that Black Mike quit. 
Then White Mike quit, too,
but visited us months later
to ask if we'd heard
from Black Mike. We hadn't
so White Mike left
the store and we never
saw him again.
Susan was twenty years
older than the rest of us
and recently divorced.
She was a single mother
who worked the graveyard
shift while her 13-year old
babysat her 5-year old twins.
Susan flirted with us young
men but would always say
that she was just practicing
for the day when her heart
healed enough to maybe
maybe maybe fall in love
again with a man her age. 

Hey, boss man, there's nothing
minimum about a poor
person's rage. No, there's
nothing minimum about
a poor person's rage.

At the office job,
Brenda asked me why I cut 
my long Indian hair
and nodded her head
when I said that no necktie
guy in Spokane 
would've hired an Indian
boy otherwise. She was white
but she was as poor as me
so she understood the economics 
if not the racism. I was the only
male secretary in that job
so I was also the only man
at the secretary lunches where
we ranked the bosses from best
to worst. The other secretaries
called me one of the girls 
though I think two of them
had crushes on me while
I had crushes on three
of them. All these years
later, I wonder if secretaries 
ever date other secretaries?
How many of those kind
of romances have bloomed?

Hey, boss man, some white
collar jobs are blue. Yeah,
some white collar jobs are blue.

Washing dishes in the student
dining hall with Greg
and Wayne, we burned our
hands and arms. I still carry
scars. We'd feast on uneaten
steaks left on the plates
after one banquet or another.
Wayne was the future
engineer and would detail
all the ways in which
he could improve 
the dishwashing process.
Greg was the future 
accountant who could
never get the clichés 
right. Once, when I said
that I hated the job,
he shrugged his shoulders
and proclaimed, "If
you don't like the oven
then get out of the frying
pan." When I quit, Greg said
that "Every job is like a bird
in one hand and a bird
in the other hand." 

Hey, boss man, I might
have followed your commands.
My body might have been
your broom but my soul
was never your dust pan.

Where are you now,
my co-worker friends?
I hope you're got
a job you love that pays you
a living wage. I remember you.
I remember the day
when I found on the ground
a coupon that promised
a free six-pack of Coke. 
So I walked to the nearby
supermarket for the redemption.
I carried the Coke
to my favorite cashier
but she told me the coupon
had expired. Then she whispered,
"It's okay. Take it." So I did.
That cashier makes documentaries
now. She came to a reading
of mine years ago. I didn't know
that she'd connected the famous
writer me with the poor kid
I'd been. She hugged me 
and we laughed and commiserated 
about the employment
and unemployment that we'd endured.
I haven't seen her since
but I sometimes think of her
when I'm in a supermarket.

I think of my old friends
when I'm in a deli. When
I'm in a pizza place. When
I'm washing dishes
after dinner. When
I'm talking to customer
service as they type info
into their computer. 
When I type my poems
into my machines.
Dear friends, I saw you
and you saw me
even as most of the world
only glanced at us
or didn't notice us.
We were blood
and bone instruments
making their lives
better while our lives
stayed the same kind 
of difficult, stayed
heavy with poverty
and shame.

Hey, boss men, I know
this won't cause you any pain
but I barely remember who
you were and I've forgotten
almost all of your names.
Yeah, boss men, I've forgotten,
I've forgotten your names.