The first of many long afternoons,
distanced at the end of the bar
before opening. The kitchen gradually
warming up for my shift, my uniform
inappropriate for these darkened
surroundings.
As the day moves on, my fatigue
like a stone laden blanket that grinds
bone and muscle to a paste, that is
diluted only by each minute that attempts
to reach the end.
Over the heat of ovens, the rest of the staff
avoid eye contact, as my night previous seems
apparent; I murmur away any accusations
with all the subtlety of a brick-embedded
window.
The bustle and steam overwhelm any contact,
as your eyes glance over and remain blank
so as to disregard my queries. Those we serve
again remain on the outside and await our judgment
once this day expires.
Jonathan Butcher was born and lives in Sheffield, England.
He has been writing poetry for around fifteen years, and has
had work appear in various print and online publications.
His Third chapbook 'Corroded Gardens' was published in 2019
by Fixator Press.
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