“Harvesting bones is a good job!”
At least I’m told this by a lady
in the break room
She wears Docs or something close
And has a ring in each side of
her nose
Once
I asked her if she was into punk
rock
She said, “No, I’m into nature.”
I liked her answer
It was the most punk thing she
could have said
I thanked her for the job info
Then made my way back to the time
clock
As I worked, I thought
Anywhere would be better than
here
Or would it?
Plenty haunts me in my sleep
Without adding to it
Somehow
Harvesting bones from the dead
Pulling bones from body parts
Does not sound appealing
Sometimes
The fear of stepping away from
the familiar
Is worse than the first step away
Ten minutes into my shift
I’m ready to pluck bones
This poem is from my book : Petals Falling
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