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Don Winter

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Cleaning Up At The Hamtramck Burger Chef

Nights at this place
boss lines spray bottles up
across the counter. He says the red’s
for shelves, the blue’s for toilets,
and the white’s only for
stainless steel. His eyebrows frown, but when
that bastard disappears into his office
I spray what I want
onto what I want.
Some nights his wife lifts
her ass onto the counter. She points
out turnover skins I missed.
Looks like she’s been slept in
for years. Those nights I time
his trip to the bank to chase
her with the white bottle.
And I catch her and squeeze
the little Chef faces stitched
over her breasts. Some nights,
that is. But most nights the boss
looks right through me. His wife mechanically
cleans the salad bar, and yells
at the bits of mustard and dressing.
As if they are to blame
for all this. Most nights I turn up
the radio and sing my own words.
Something about being in this business to stay
alive. Something like that.

 

Page(s) 176-177

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