Sunday, June 9th, 2013...12:58 am

victor schwartzman | three new poems

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At least it pays well

my job’s spraying nPB on foam
to make cushions for your ass
only job I found to feed my family
after a year my son asked why
I wore shoes of different colours
left foot bloody red from a wound
when did I no longer feel my feet?


As her doctor I contacted the factory
pointlessly had many times for others
she and I talked, she would be sicker
with no job, even breathing that spray
my responsibility is to heal patients
their only work makes them sick
why don’t they teach this in med school?


I’m a manager, I breathe it too
weren’t for nPB there’d be no jobs
nobody likes it but we got no choice
safer crap prices us out of business
cheap crap keeps this place running
long story my friend none of it good
don’t feel my feet but what can you do?

Jerry ponders how to turn women on

There’s gotta be a switch somewhere
something a man can push or pull
a button or lever I don’t care
wish they’d taught turn-ons in school


I really wanna get in there and do it
avoid the screwed up sharing and stuff
what women really want I can’t intuit
why isn’t sticking your guy in enough?


You’re bitching it sounds self-serving
but I’m in a fast food self-serve society
that women avoid me I find unnerving
why with them would I have notoriety?

My first job

We’re so proud of our young Henry
his first job, honest work in a huge bakery
we pushed him into it but he’ll love it
he’s done with school and it’s his time
the first job is so crucial for him
it will set up the rest of his life


I wanted to work in an office
mom and dad pushed me into this
it’s hot and dark and cramped
I don’t use any skill except being here
I’ll make the best of it and show them
maybe I will even learn to make deserts


We weed out newbies with the worst job
hauling hot trays from the cooling racks
hard sweaty work that never stops
ninety percent drop out before two weeks
survivors get the next worst job
this kid has heart, he’ll last maybe a month

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