Saturday, May 21, 2016

Concessions - draft of a poem

I haven't written poetry in a while, so please excuse this draft. I'm moldy.


My daughter smells
like popcorn
and sweat,
her love of movies
into lust
for work,
a teen's dream
steamed away
the first day
by an asshole
middle manager.

"You don't know
what you're doing!"

Staff and customers
stare. "You have
to believe in yourself!"
"I do, sir," she says,
tying back tears.
 "I didn't want
to appear weak,"
she tells me.

She is
but weak.

She's JROTC,
in a uniform
once a week,
a graduate
of Summer
Leadership School.
She's used to
being yelled at,
she says.
Her prisoner
is her cool.

My poor, tough
child, relegated
to $8.50 an hour
and the moods of a
power-tripping fool,
bossing around
a bunch of kids.

How far
will he go?
How far
will she let him?

Katherine Gotthardt
Copyright May 21, 2016

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