Road-Kill Janitor
Scraping sun-dried carcass from pavement
I have so much separated, grinded. Skin
pulled from skin, claws scissor coiled
intestines to my apple-red gas pump. Days
old tuna stench sears my eyelids, opening
to scrambled bleeding from potatoed
brains and greased scalp. I vomit the Georgia-
clay red brown of my job. I carry pocket
sized winter green mouthwash, swish around
breakfast ham, white American cheese, spit
out chuncks. I collect each splintered limb,
toss the ass, then head into my school
janitors' never-ending bag, drive on
to the next reminder of why he said:
My life could be worse...
Sydney,
ReplyDeleteThis is an interesting reflection of a pretty nasty job. “potatoed/ brains and greased scalp” is really strong and vivid, especially placed close to “Days old tuna stench”. I also like that you included things the speaker keeps in his pocket to make the job a little more bearable. I think this piece could be expanded in some interesting ways, it would be interesting to see some elements of a dischordant subject included in the work to add depth to the piece or to create a dialogue that offers a different view of the speaker’s life. All in all I think there is some potential here to be explored, and a solid base of very good writing already present to build on.