July heat weighs heavy on my shoulders
like a freight train or a case of cement
poured on me instead of our work site.
Troweling blades have been banned
ever since one carved a jagged lightning
bolt of pain deep into my forearm, blood
sloshing like a 7-Eleven slurpee onto the
newly-poured sidewalk. It needed
stitches but my daughter needed ballet
classes more. Olivia wants to be a
ballerina when she grows up and between
the price of costumes and the cost of her future, the
car hasn’t had gas since May. WIC’s
letter came in the mail today. Olivia’s birthday
was last month. The severance package is free
and reduced lunch, but that doesn’t help
when she’s at home. Jennifer’s
been puking, every morning like punching
a time card. The test costs four dollars but the truth
costs thousands. David understands, of course,
but if the rent is late again he doesn’t make the rules
he just carries them out. It’s nothing personal.