Neglectful Assassins are Playing God


Blessed as Geppetto’s fingers
Everything I touch becomes a puppet.

I even nicknamed my Stiff-Upper-Lip
Pinocchio’s nose. *hah*

Composure arranged
By puppet strings-

Ought to apologize
For a finger?

It’s either
Anxious or

Whatever hello prophesied
Remains like a pantomime
Nothing more than
Rehearsed laughter
Valued like sitcom reruns.

But this laughter
Is torture.

The gelded social workers
At the food pantry
Distribute tickets

The tickets are then exchanged
For one food item.

If a client chooses
Not to use their tickets
On the initial visit

They may return
Later in the week

But until the exchange is met
The tickets are as useful as
A dignitary’s plan to end poverty.

When I asked a gelded social worker
Why they do this
He explained,
“It helps them feel normal.”
“What does?” I replied
“The consistency. You’re allowed to return daily…
…Like a supermarket.” He said.
“And that’s normal?”
“Yes,” he said with tone-deaf assurance, “that’s normal.”

I’ve been sleeping in the grocery aisle
Since we said goodbye.

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