The Life Expectancy of a Dish Washer - Intro

Back in January when I was reminded of LitFest in May, I knew that I wanted to submit a non-fiction entry along with my fiction and poetry. Almost instinctively I knew that it would be about my time as a dish washer. When I told my friends and family about it, they agreed that I had plenty of material to make a compelling piece of literature. When I told my former literature professor she was excited to finally get a chance to read about it, given how much detail I would go into when we talked in her office.

The title for the entry came just as quickly, and it's the only thing that stayed a constant from inception to completion. Sure, I posted a few excerpts from it, but they were bits I came up with while back in my dishpit. I wasn't sure where I'd make them fit, because I hadn't even started writing it yet. As I was writing it, spots opened where they fit naturally, as if I had already written it all subconsciously and was simply putting it on the screen.

As for the story itself, I can assure all of you that none of it is generalized, fictitious or overblown: it is all true. If my words and assurances aren't enough, I have pictures that I'd be more than happy to show that would substantiate them. So, without further ado...

The Life Expectancy of a Dish Washer

____There are no available statistics for the average duration of employment as a dishwasher. That’s not surprising. It’s also not something I need for this paper, because I’ve been a dishwasher for the last three years so I have some familiarity with the subject. Too much familiarity if I’m being honest. Lack of vetted statistics aside, a person will normally be a dishwasher for only six to nine months for two reasons: they only accepted the job in the hope eventual advancement, or they can’t handle it and quit.

____My career as a dishwasher began in April ‘08 and has been exclusively with the Red Lion hotel in Kennewick. I had no plans for advancement, though I was assured it was “a transient position” (the then executive chef’s words, reprinted for posterity. not mine.) and I would be in another department soon enough. As if that poorly worded promise wasn’t enough, I also desperately needed work and this was the first opportunity I had in months. I wasn’t about to turn my nose up at a job supposedly reserved for homeless people, so I accepted the position. I remember the rationalizations I made, of finding a better job or making my way to another position, but only one of them took root: I no longer had to deal with the general or shopping public.

____Before dish washing I worked at an Amazon call center, and before that I worked at Hastings. For years my careers revolved around customer service and I had simply burned out on being helpful and courteous. Being a dishwasher meant zero contact with people that weren’t employees, and that was all I needed to know. I took that idea, that simple notion of isolation, and I nurtured it. I could finally do a job without interruption, and I was sure that I could do it well. After a month of it, I wasn’t.

____I wasn’t fast enough, I didn’t know where things went and I was sure that everyone hated me. The dishes were clean, which was an unthinkable prospect at the time, but it wasn’t enough. The previous dishwasher, who became a cook when I showed up, would constantly tell me how badly I was doing. Things like “You’re takin’ way too long washin’ them dishes. You gotta go faster, or else.” or, “You’re pissin’ off other departments by not keeping those silverware caddies full.” I would feel worthless and get infuriated to the point of desperately wishing I could quit, if just to make her be dishwasher again. She couldn’t even get things clean, which made my slow but steady output something of a revelation in comparison.

____It would take another month before I learned where everything went, even longer for my speed to improve and accept that not everyone hated me. After four months, the executive chef that hired me was replaced, and my situation changed for the better in every way. Brandon had worked at the Richland property as a sous chef for years, so this was his promotion. He was closer to my age than anyone else in the kitchen, and that made it easier for me to open up and begin to actually enjoy my time at work. This became even easier when Mike, his friend and co-worker from Richland, came to work there as well. He was a few years younger, but we had much of the same interests and similar senses of humor. It was then that I began to develop actual friendships, and it made the sometimes difficult job of washing dishes somehow bearable.

____When I reached my own six month mark, I wasn’t feeling the stress inherent to the position. I was having fun with friends where I also happened to clean bits of food from plates and assorted cutlery. At nine months I was more pre-occupied with my second quarter of college than I was with my dreadful job. I instead marked the year it had been since I left Amazon, and how nice it was to not have angry people screaming at me over the phone anymore. It would take roughly a year until I began to succumb to the pressures of being a dishwasher, aided entirely by the annual Mother’s Day brunch. In no uncertain terms, that event is responsible for more instances of employee self-termination (quitting, just so we’re clear) than any other. How I survived it the year before was due entirely to the help I received, and that help would no longer be there.

____I arrived at 6AM, and I did not leave until 5:30PM. I worked practically non-stop, and when I finally got home I could barely speak, let alone sit upright long enough to have some of the delicious food from my family’s own Mother’s Day celebration. It was by no means a record, because in July of ’08 I worked a 14 hour shift, 11AM to 1AM, with a single 10 minute break seven hours in. My family didn’t know where I was and they even began to worry that I might have died. Nevertheless, that brunch is what started me on the slow decline into the distinct phases of burnout, apathy and genuine harm to my well-being.

The Life Expectancy of a Dish Washer - Continued

____Being employed as a dishwasher for a full year, I was drifting further away from the crowded median of that particular bell curve. I had reached a point where I knew what I was doing, and I was doing it well enough that I couldn’t bear the idea of starting over at a new job. Not only that, I appreciated the fact that my work schedule never conflicted with school and my checking account was healthy. Reasons to keep my job appeared and became neatly appointed stacks that demanded compliance.

____What kind of job could I get with “Dishwasher: 1Yr3Mo” listed on an application, or even the slightly fancier “Dish Room Attendant: 1 ½ years” on a resume? My options diminished the longer I stayed, and so did my hope of getting out while I still could. I was becoming institutionalized in a way, all the while dragging myself further into outlier status: a lone dot, far removed from the normal dots huddled together in their 6 to 9 month stints as washers of dishes. It was around my one and a half year point that my surroundings began to really affect me. Disorganization in the kitchen had a constant presence from the day I started, and I successfully corrected the bulk of it by this point, but of all its instances, improper stacking of plates could not be remedied.

____Every day when I come to work I walk through a short hallway, past the locker room, freezer and dry storage, temporarily unaware of the state of the dishpit. It’s not until I’m mere feet from it that I can see the amount of dirty dishes waiting for me. It takes another six or so steps until I come to the spot where my fellow employees put their plates. This is where I would regularly see the most harrowing displays of indifference from other staff members. The stacks of plates would be so mind-blowing at times; it's as if they were built from chaos and entropy. Like so many ceramic nuclear warheads, silently daring me to dismantle them without incident. They’re an amazing testament to what laziness can accomplish.There were a few times that the offending departments were told to stack them properly, and they did for a month or two. Then the inevitable slide back to putting a plate wherever would leave more delicate heaps for me to disassemble.

____I don’t know how many times I felt and fought the urge to give a measured tap to those messy stacks, but in all of my employment I never succumbed to that desire. I even managed to make a sort of open-ended game out of it, which I called Creative Dish Stacking. It was nothing more than making structures out of dishes that ranged from simple to exotic, but it was a huge boost to my sanity. Brandon caught on quick, and we were soon seeing who could out build the other. He took it a step farther and would make “stealth builds” behind me as I washed dishes. It’s enjoyably disconcerting to turn around and see a three foot tall building made of black plastic tongs and metal plate covers. As fun as that diversion would be, it just wasn’t enough to stem the tide of oncoming burnout.

____Because I was the only dishwasher, whoever was cooking on my days off would be responsible for the dishes. It wasn’t a problem at first, as the cook on duty would do a majority of the dishes, but the amount done became less and less until only the bare minimum was done. This made having days off a double-edged sword, since I would have to clean whatever was left when I got back. It was difficult to enjoy my time away from the kitchen because I knew the longer I was gone, it would be in even worse shape when I returned. There were times I’d come back and see a mostly bare counter, but they were a rare exception to a depressing rule. Still, it’s understandable, because the dish washing machine is a pain to work with.

____In all honesty, it’s not even a dish washer. It looks and acts likes one, and it might even say it is, but it’s a dirty liar; it is a dish sanitizer, and nothing more. It works by pulling racks through with a set of six evenly spaced hooks while jets of scathing hot water spray the dishes. If any desirable results are to be achieved, each item must be scrubbed clean before being sent through and even that sometimes isn’t enough. Also, one of the hooks will occasionally pop up, preventing the racks from going through. It has to be fixed manually by reaching into the machine full of 180° water, and pushing it down with a finger. It has to be done quickly because that water is constantly dripping in scalding splashes onto the arm being used. Using utensils like tongs or spatulas doesn’t work, and even then the arm is still in there.

____I was once severely burned by the water when I accidentally left the hatch open and started it, and for weeks after I would flinch whenever I flicked the switch to ON. If that wasn’t bad enough, just a few months ago the heating element shorted out, signaled by a loud bang and a puff of smoke. As I was standing next to it in a puddle of water, it’s not a stretch to say that I could have been electrocuted. The machine is a piece of shit. No, I take that back. It was a piece of shit 15 years ago. Now it's a doddering old man with cataracts driving his Buick at freeway speeds through a school zone. That's the kind of dish washer I have to work with.

The Life Expectancy of a Dish Washer - Conclusion

____Putting up with circumstances such as these for three years is a feat best not repeated, though I admit that I have a sense of pride for having done it. Even then, it wasn’t all bad. I’ve made good friends and had fun in my time as a dishwasher, and all the confounding behavior and forcefully applied incompetence can’t dilute that. More importantly, my job allowed me to do something fairly surprising, considering the type of work I was doing; I could think.

____Washing dishes is stressful, to be sure, but it’s also not too terribly difficult. I could very easily slip into autopilot while alone in my dishpit, and think about any number of things: what I’d do when I got home, homework that was due soon, story ideas and even the direction my life was taking. I was in my dishpit when I decided to become a college English professor. I had visions of sitting in my office grading papers, when the clattering rumble of a cart outside my door would trigger a flashback to being in my dishpit. This menial task I was set to doing would let me appreciate my eventual career more than if I was working retail, or some other job fit for a college student.

____Being a dishwasher is fine as a temporary measure, but prolonged exposure to it is unadvisable. In the last two months I’ve had daily migraines, near constant heartburn and I’ve begun to develop what I can only describe as borderline insomnia. It stems from my job, and I know this because two weeks ago I was given a week off, and in that time my migraines eased, my heartburn decreased and I could sleep easier. Those maladies may have temporarily subsided, but I could not stop reminding myself that I had to go back there. I tried enjoying my free time by going to movies and spending time with family and friends, but that nagging, gnashing idea of going back persisted. I decided on one simple thing during my time off; when I get back and it looks like I’ve been gone for a week, I’m putting my two weeks in. Sure enough, the kitchen looked the part.

____The silverware bin was full to bursting, none of the sheet pans were clean, and I found bits of mold growing in soup cups. At the end of my shift I wrote a note to Brandon explaining my decision, as well as my intention to train my replacement. Brandon understood completely, and he has been more than gracious. If anything he’s surprised I stayed on this long. Today, April 22nd, is my last official day as a dishwasher. As I said I’ll be training my replacement, whenever they are hired, because as much as I despise that place I don’t want to leave it the way I found it. My replacement also needs to know there is a life expectancy for a dishwasher, and they would do best not to exceed it.

The Magician - Intro

The following is my fiction entry for LitFest this year, and while it's not exactly what I was planning I'm happy with what I have. I've had the idea kicking around since January, but I've been completely unable to get a start on it. It wasn't until five hours before it was due that I managed to write that all important first sentence (for me anyway) and I was finally able to finish it.

I'll probably return to it at some point and expand on the idea and possibly make it more serious and/or gruesome, but for now this is what I have. It's somewhat meant to be symbolic of people that need to have absolutely every small detail of a story, namely the people that hate that Lost didn't answer every single question it posed. Which is why I have so many references to it, and that at one point Mr. Locke declares "...I'm lost."

With the 3,000 word limit I wasn't able to fit as much as I would like (word count is 2,717) which is probably why I'll be going back to it at some point. So anyway, that's a little bit about this particular story. I hope you all enjoy it, and as usual I'd love constructive feedback.

The Magician

The Magician

____Between a meadow and a peaceful valley lies the town of Shepherd. Rockwellian to a fault and a single shared highway exit to its name, it’s the kind of town where doors are left unlocked and porch lights burn at dusk. Elm trees dot the community park and occasional yard, providing an ample supply of shade in the summer and dead leaf piles for jumping in come fall. That’s the kind of town Shepherd is.

____As the sun settles in on a balmy July evening, the community has gathered in the town theater. They’re waiting for Benjamin Locke to appear on stage and for what the posters through town hail as his “Astounding Show of Magick and Mind Trickery” to start. Engaging in polite conversation and eager speculation, the townsfolk recall the productive day and the neat treat in store for them. Mayor Worsley himself booked the act, a fact he boastfully repeats to Henry Gale and his shy daughter Alexandra.

____“I’m tellin’ ya Henry, the things this Locke guy can do are astoundin’, just like the poster says. Astoundin’!”
____“Well that certainly does sound a treat, Mayor Worsley. I know Alex here’s been ‘specially lookin’ forward to it.” Henry gave his daughter a gentle tug closer, and smiled down at her waiting for a response. “Well? Aren’t you Alex?”
____“Of course I am Dad, you know that.” Her cheeks grew pink, and she made a grasping motion to her collar though it wasn’t at all snug. The lure of a magic show was motivation enough for her attendance, but not quite enough for socializing. Mayor Worsley took little notice, and excused himself.
____“Oops, people are getting restless and that’d be my cue Henry. Have a seat and enjoy the show.”

____Henry and Alex took their seats and watched as he bounded down the aisle and up the back steps to the stage. The house lights went down as the stage lights came up, and Worsley greeted the crowd with his usual gusto and vigor.

____“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m excited to see you all here tonight. I know you’ve all seen the posters I had posted ‘round town, and I also know it’s been a hot topic in daily discussions, my popularity ratings notwithstanding.” The crowd gave a warm chuckle, keenly aware his ratings were high. “I can promise you those posters read correct, and that tonight’s show will be astoundin’ as all that. Just you sit, take it in and give it up for Benjamin Locke!” The crowd responded in kind with as thunderous an applause as a small town like Shepherd can muster. Worsley was right, and the show will be astounding as promised, but it will not end well.

____Locke came onto the stage dressed as any magician should be, a snappy black tuxedo and silk top hat, and he drank the audience’s applause like sparkling water. His gorgeous blonde assistant trailing behind in her surprisingly modest costume tossed him an over-large magic wand which he caught deftly, but stared at in disbelief.

____“So sorry folks, but it seems Miss Eloise gave me the wrong wand.” Eloise coyly put her hand to her lips, delightfully feigning surprise at her mistake. “Trivial matter though, and I can fix it.” With a tap, a smack and a final whack, the trick wand burst into a colorful bouquet of flowers, from which he pulled his real wand. Trivial as it may have been, it was a joy to behold for the town of Shepherd, and Alex especially. Locke knew he was off to a roaring start, and he kept the momentum high throughout his act.

____Many staples of stage magic made an appearance in the show; doves born from empty metal lids and fire, the disappearance and reappearance of a rabbit, destruction and restoration of personal effects, lovely assistant teleportation and even the defiance of gravity! Spellbound, the crowd “Ooh’d” and “Ahh’d” at all the right times with a clockwork precision. Captive in Locke’s enchanted hands and mesmerized by Eloise’s beauty and grace, Alex felt the people surrounding her fade away leaving only herself and the magic on stage. Surging applause brought her senses back, as well as the people, as Locke thanked them and announced his last trick of the evening.

The Magician - Continued

____“Now, for this particular trick, I will need a volunteer. Not that Miss Eloise isn’t a capable helper in her own right, but because she will be part of the trick!” Eloise repeated her coy hand-to-mouth gesture, and curtsied genially. “Normally it would be someone from the audience.” At this, the crowd erupted once more, hands flying up in the dire hope of being selected. Alex was no exception, as she stood on the warped wood bench flailing her arm as best she could until Locke raised his arms to quell the commotion. “Thank you all, but as I said, I would normally choose from the audience. Mayor Worsley has the honor tonight, and he’s quite excited for it. So please, a round of applause for Mayor Worsley!”

____While not as enthusiastic as they were moments before, the people of Shepherd clapped and whooped for their beloved Mayor. Worsley took to the stage, soaking in the attention and the bright stage lights as politicians are wont to do.

____“So, Mr. Locke, what is it you need my help with?”
____“Mayor Worsley, what I need you to do is verify that these-!” Eloise wheeled a rack full of swords onto the stage, “are genuine, hand forged rapiers!”

____Bewildered, the crowd whispered sharply, deathly curious to know what they were for and if they were indeed real. Worsley removed one of the blades from its place and inspected it closely. While he was by no means a swordsmith, he knew what to look for in a sharp blade. After flicking the edge with his thumb, he nodded and announced the sword was real. At this, Eloise wheeled out a large wicker basket, like what would be found at a market in India.

____“Ladies and gentlemen, your Mayor has kindly verified that these rapiers are real. Now, for my last trick, Eloise will climb into this wicker basket,” which she was already doing “and with some assistance from your Mayor, I will pierce it with these very swords!” The gasps from the crowd were so sharp and so deep, that it felt as if the air itself had been robbed from the room. “For this trick, I will need absolute silence, so please… do not… make… a sound.”

____Locke closed the lid on Eloise, and grasped the first sword. Setting the tip gently against the edge, Locke thrust the blade into the basket. There was no sound that came from it, just as there was no sound from the audience as Locke picked up the second sword and repeated the motion. He drove the third sword in, plunged the fourth and fifth blades as well, and still no sounds from the basket or audience. With one sword left, Locke motioned for Worsley to come closer, and he placed the sixth sword into the Mayor’s hand. They both carefully positioned it, and on his own, Worsley drove the rapier deep, and a blood curdling scream exploded from the basket!

____The audience shot up to their feet, panic tightening its icy grip on their throats when Locke yelled for calm and Worsley did the same. When the noise was distilled to an ominous murmur, Locke lifted the basket lid as Eloise burst free, nary a scratch on her, the same lovely smile on her face as before. Monstrous applause and excited hoots filled the theater as Locke and lovely Eloise bowed. Mayor Worsley clapped the loudest and thanked the both of them for the truly “Astoundin’” show.

____“That really was something else there Benjamin. Them posters didn’t lie one bit, and I know we’d love it if y’came back this time next year.”
____“I believe that can be arranged Mayor Worsley.”
____“Please, please, call me Charlie, Benjamin. But, listen. Before y’go, I think we’d all like to know exactly how you did what you did, wouldn’t we folks?” The townsfolk gave an agreeing round approval at the idea, though Alex didn’t quite consent.”
____“How I did it?” Locke laughed heartily; playing along with what he believed was a game. ____“No, you should know that a magician doesn’t divulge his secrets, Charlie. It’s simply not how it works.” The smile on Worsley’s face faded slightly.
____“Actually, I don’t know that’s how it works, and frankly that’s kind of the problem. We should be told how you did all this. It’s only fair, and somethin’ of a lie otherwise.”
____“A lie? Charlie, magic is supposed to be mysterious. If I told you how it was done what magic would there be?”
____“I don’t think that’s for you to decide. Now, we want to know how you did this.” A chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘It’s only fair’s came from the townsfolk, and any trace of a smile had since faded from Worsley’s face. This was a man who got what he wanted, and Locke began to see that. Not every face in the crowd lit up at the Mayor’s calls for transparency. They were happy with the show, and content to let it stay a mystery, but a silent majority is no match when the minority is so vocal.

____“Okay, I’m lost. You people honestly don’t know that magic is meant to have a layer of secrecy? You can’t seriously be that backwater now can you? Charlie, I-“ Worsley gripped tightly to the lapel of Locke’s tuxedo, his face slightly purpling with anger.
____“Don’t you call me Charlie, and don’t you call us ‘backwater!’ We’re a friendly and welcoming community here, but we do not take kindly to liars, cheats or deceivers.”
____“Dammit, you senseless hick, let go of me!” Locke struggled to get free, but Worsley outmatched him in nearly every physical category.
____“Not until you tell us how you did it, you swindlin’ fraudster!”
____“You let him be!” The shrill burst of noise came from deep in the audience, causing the Mayor to start and ease his grip on Locke. The creaking of warped wood echoed through the hall as people turned to see who dared to speak out against the scuffle and disdainful murmuring.

The Magician - Conclusion

____Alexandra Gale was trembling terribly, her hand grasping desperately at her collar as if some noose was around it. She couldn’t stand to see such a wonderful person as Benjamin Locke be treated in such a way, especially after what he had given to the town. As the townsfolk turned to her, she could feel the burn of their eyes upon her being. She did not like attention, even in small doses, but as she looked around at her fellow people the burn of their gaze turned to brazen embers within her.

____“All that Mister Locke wanted to do was give us a good show, and he did that. Didn’t he?” Heads scattered through the crowd began to nod, and a meek “That he did” cropped up as well. Alex felt the embers breathe, as wisps of flame danced inside her. “And what he’s saying is true, he can’t just blab his secrets to us. That would ruin the show. How impressed would we all still be if we discovered how unimpressive it actually was?”
____“Pretty damn unimpressed, that’s how much!” The cry came from somewhere in the audience, but Alex didn’t look to see as she was so excited to be making a stand, the fire within her raging now. More people were coming to her side, aiding her with ecstatic cries and words of encouragement
____“So I say we should be happy with what we did get, and hope that if Mister Locke does come back next year that he’ll have even more amazing magic tricks for us!” The crowd cheered at her words, and began chanting “more magic, more magic.” Alex was no longer grasping at her collar and she felt a great pride in what she had just done.

____Mayor Worsley’s face faded from purple to a light puce during Alex’s speech, and he had let go of Locke completely. When the chanting wouldn’t stop however, the color began to intensify again. He strode to the front of the stage and screamed.

____“Never! I refuse to let this, this sharlaton within city limits again. Now you stop that damn hollerin’a’yers and get back home! And you,” Worsley raised a meaty finger and pointed it in Locke’s face. “You get yer damned act out of my town, y’hear. You are never to return as long as I’m mayor of this place.”
____“Yeah, however long that is!” Worsley spun towards the slowly dispersing crowd, desperate to match a face to the voice. “I know that’s you, Sawyer! I heard you make that ‘unimpressed’ comment earlier too!” Before he could return his attention to Locke, the magician had already vanished from the stage along with his props. Eloise really was a pro at the magic game, coy personality or not.

____Alex was walking with her father, who, despite being on friendly terms with Worsley, was immensely proud of his daughter. “See, Alex? I told you before that you have the ability to stand up for yourself. All you need is to do it.”
____“I know Dad, you’re right. It felt so great to do it too. And I can’t wait ‘til I get to see-“
She gasped, excited to see Locke next to his truck a dozen or so yards away. “I’ll be right back Dad.” She ran off at a clip as her dad stood and watched, happy to see his daughter growing up.
____“Mr. Locke! Hi!” A little startled, Locke turned around, looked down and was relieved.
____“Hi there, little girl. You’re the one who stood up for me.”
____“That I am. I’m really happy that I came to see your show tonight. It was incredible!”
____“Thank you. That really means a lot to me, considering what happened. What’s your name?”
____“Oh, um… my name is, uh, Alex!” She giggled, and composed herself “Sorry, I still get a little nervous when I talk to new people.”
____“You? Nervous? I can’t say I believe that, what with all that in there. You really saved me in there Alex. I owe you.”
____“Well, you could come back next year, maybe? That would be payback plenty for me.”
____“Payback plenty eh?” Locke smiled, but let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry Alex, but I don’t think I’ll be coming back here any time soon. At least not with Worsley still around.”
____“What?! But you heard Mr. Sawyer and them right? Worsley won’t be mayor for long, and you’ll be able to come back!”
____“He might not be mayor, but I can guarantee he’ll still be around. Someone like that doesn’t just go away. He’d make it rather difficult for me to return, I’m sure.” He saw the expectant look on Alex’s face fade, which made his heart sink. “But I’ll tell you this, as powerful as Worsley might think he is, he can’t keep me out of other towns in the county. And if you’ll promise to be there, I can set up a show nearby. Deal?”
____“Of course you’ve got a deal!” Joy filled Alex’s face as she smiled widely, and coyly put a up a hand to cover it.
____“Hey now, keep that up and Eloise might end up losing her job.” Suddenly the horn honked, startling both Ben and Alex, as Eloise poked her head out of the driver’s side window.
____“Benjamin darling, I’ve got the truck running. Hop in now.”
____“Well, you heard her Alex. I can’t leave my beautiful Eloise waiting. You go back to your dad and I’ll see you again soon enough.” Ben trotted around the front of the truck and hopped into the passenger side. Eloise blew a kiss to Alex, and drove away.
____Alex was sorry to see such interesting people go, but she took comfort in the fact that she would see them again someday. Running back to her dad she waved her hand as if she held a wand, curious if she could do magic like Locke some day.

Condolences

This is one of the poems I'll be submitting for this year's LitFest, and it's also my most personal. It wasn't an easy poem to write given the subject matter, so I kept it open in a Word file just in case that inspiration struck. This is also what I felt I needed to finish before I could really start on my other entries, so now I feel I'll be able to do them justice. Enjoy :)

Condolences

In a hotel lounge lit by televisions
and drowning in karaoke renditions
as lyrics flash, words numb and burn
from friends, curious and consoling.
Bitter by proxy, angry and confused,
the injustice of it, that fact trumps fiction.
They talk as if someone has died
or some other loss occurred that first of August

The chirrup of my phone awoke me.
A blue sky’s clear light, harsh to my eyes,
mixed warmth with chilled air on my face
happy to see your name, hear your voice, ecstatic,
deliver the inevitable. Lovely, numbing news.
I was the fifth to be told, but the loss of hope
would be the same, no matter the order.
The burn of August reduced to November chill

Heavy coats on chairs, alcohol’s heat inflames
incredulity. Supportive cries and claims of aid,
phone calls, stopped, for good reason.
A love still breathing is better left so,
like ideals, too hopeful, do best in a dream.
Lights burn, night over, so much is learned,
though Best assured, her heart is with you
it’s a warm consolation among condolences.