i was a temp
at hach chemical
when corporate
came.
man behind the lectern
generically thanked us
for the sweat
off our ball-sacks
and praised the plant managers
for implementing
a lean-process
manufacturing
model.
then he quietly
slid in
how the metrics
pointed to a possible
diminution
of labor hours
per unit measure.
bruce the janitor
was a little slow,
he leaned over
asked what
that meant.
it means
our knuckles
are popcorn
bruce,
it means blueberries
might be mulberries
and huckleberry fin
never existed.
what that man is telling you bruce
is not to plan
on being able to afford cab fare
to des moines twice a week
to race your slot-car.
they lost everything
three times over.
the third time
dad was twelve
and the auctioneer from columbia
set up a tent
east of the barns,
they bought
it all —
chickens, milk cows,
grandpa's remingtons,
grandma's oak chest
and dad's quarter horse —
buck.
but i took up
with a pragmatic woman
who demanded it,
thanks to her good credit
i've got my father in law's drill in my hand,
eyeballing holes
for plastic shutters
from menards.
bought a twenty dollar lawnmower
at a garage sale,
don't use it often
but it starts
on the first pull.
property taxes and homeowners insurance
are escrowed,
its just a matter of:
electric, gas, water, trash, two car notes, insurance
but with the seven month old kid
and my drinking
there's just not enough money —
overdraft fees, two months late
on the mortgage, repo man around the corner.
wife swung on me tonight after
catching me with rum
(non approved expenditure)
got me good in the chest.
i'm in the basement,
thrift store couch barricading the door,
my ass and rum hard to it —
gaining more empathy for my father
by the second.
Justin Hyde lives in Iowa. He can be contacted at jjjjhyde@yahoo.com.