In The Manner Of N/A

Wherever I may go, the worker hurts me deep,

Behind the counter lost in a sea of merchandise,

his every day shirt sliding through receipts and change,

embraces me and takes me deeper into the sanctum of commerce.

I find him slipping by the misplaced bottle of milk,

inside the box of chocolate lying arrogantly,

on the shelf where detergents used to claim their domain.

What do they see those who stare,

at her bruised shoulders, at the decay of his teeth?

It is a matter of national health, one sais,

Precaution should be taken for the sake of our people, quotes the other,

Could you pass me the salt, please?

Sulphur stains the air,

the equation that gives it all away,

though the devil has nothing to do with it,

His presence faded even more with the latest engine step-up.

Meanwhile a toothless grin does away with even the remnants,

Of this old superstition,

One and one is two,

There’s nothing more clear than this nowadays,

Hidden between paychecks and cargo,

A hesitant crash of the dishes,

That she denounces only minutes after the rebuke she took,

With an ancient greek smile on her face.

Wherever I may go, the worker hurts me deep,

Sharp fearful cliffs, a faraway shore, naked once again

The freighter that passed him through

is named AGONY 937