We all
We all are made of comets.
We all make mistakes, we all make friends, we all make a mess, we all clean it up.
We all stab each other in dark alleyways for twenty-nine bucks and a transfer.
We all just do it. We all enjoy responsibly. We all think outside the bun.
We all stroke someone else’s kitty behind the ears. We all brag about it later to our friends or anyone who’ll listen.
We pace under fluorescent lights. Behind bulletproof glass, we ring up Big Gulps and cellophane-wrapped BLTs.
We swig 5-Hour-ENERGY and climb behind the wheel of big rigs for an all-night hump across the Rockies.
We pull semen-crusted sheets from hotel beds, replenish minibars, sop up soaked bathroom floors.
We pound nails into drywall, scramble along rooftops—sometimes falling. We saw two-by-fours to the centimeter.
Our fingertips prune from holding our hands under scummy dish water, scrubbing sweet and sour sauce from tureens.
We all buy houses we can’t possibly afford. We all make five figures. We all call out sick. We all default on our credit cards.
We all know how to sling a sledgehammer.
We all could win a Grammy. We all belong in Cooperstown. We all died on the Titanic.
We all would love a Toblerone—if you’re offering…
We all roast in the flames of a fire we all built. We all share a bottle of bourbon by that fire when we should be at home with hubby.
We hold these truths to be self-evident.
We mop the corridors, flanked by aluminum lockers, keyrings jangling from belt loops, wishing we were somewhere
else—someone else.
We sweat over boiling fryers and clean grease traps under deep sinks while the moon rides the sky.
We eavesdrop on our fares’ conversations as they pierce our soft bellies with golden spurs.
We breathe in the melon musk of tear-free shampoo as we bathe our babes at the close of day.
We forget who we are. We forget who we were. We forget who we were supposed to be.
We all take hemlock when the moment arrives.
We prepare for the worst.We hope for the best. We wish we had more time. We
