NEW FEATHERS ANTHOLOGY
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Picture
Photo by Phil Aicken
tocked off
Paul Tanner
 
 
the late shift:
me, standing at the counter
waiting for the next weirdo 
to come in. 
 
I’m trying not to look at the clock when
 
this lad comes in, 
panting, his eye swollen.
 
he goes running up aisle 4 . . . 
 
I’m trying not to look at the clock when
 
another lad comes in,
blood around his nose, 
looking around. 
 
where is he? he asks of me
but before I can answer
he goes running up aisle 2 . . . 
 
I’m trying not to look at the clock when 
 
I hear some grunting, 
the shuffling and squeaks of shoes 
and I leave the counter,
go follow the sounds . . . 
 
they’re there 
in aisle 3,
rolling around on the floor,
whacking lumps out of each other . . .
 
I watch them and not the clock when 
 
they stop, exhausted 
sprawled out across the aisle  
 
and they look up at me.
maybe they expect me 
to try and intervene,
maybe they want me to call the police 
and make them feel important,
or give them an excuse 
to involve me in their brawl,
I don’t know, 
but I just look down at them and not the clock when 
 
they get up 
and slowly shuffle out,
one after the other, wincing . . .
 
I go back to the counter 
and stand there 
waiting for the next weirdo 
to come in.
 
I’m trying not to look at the clock when 
 
I can’t take it anymore 
and I do, 
I finally do 
look at the clock 
and​​–
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