Sanitation Invisibility Hours
the cleanest apple store in New York was my fault
too much attention to relieving the counter of errant smudges
well, a judge seemed to think so,
anyway, there ARE awards
can I tell you?
the Walt Whitman Mall exists
in a wealthy suburb of New York City, Leaves of Grass
carved into the side: The feeling of health, the full-noon trill,
the song of me rising from bed
and meeting the sun. In the early morning,
McDonalds opened before the smoothie and salad
places for us grease fired workers
to fuel up for our sanitation invisibility
hours, our existence only witnessed by
the senior citizens who lobbied for an early AM air
conditioned public space to power walk on
the mezzanine level, whisking by white as a sheet of printer
paper, floating arms pumped window shopping almost ghosts,
in search of an elevated heart rate
Personally, I could only eat the Mickey D hashbrowns in one bite once a week
without vomiting, Hoping to cease not till death.
I hustled lifts, got sleep on the carride to condition
every summer I lost 30 pounds the wrong way and was congratulated
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? a genius didn't know
that you let Lysol air dry so the MRSA celebrated, lived to fight
another day on overpriced electronic ridges, my eyes rolled,
only to have my arm snatched
by the team lead genius who asked
what's with the attitude, is this gig your only
life goal? How could I answer the child? I do not know
what it is any more than he. It is a misunderstanding, with eyes
averted. I wept in the supply van
post chiding gifted earbuds from one empathetic employee, I sing of myself
a genius accuses me of shoplifting, until I detail the exchange—
they give them out for free to complainers
I could be one of those in another time,
certainly not now.
a genius takes a dump in a just cleaned toilet,
requested it be freshened as I pack my mop for the day—
the surrounding stock room beams with glimpses of the unattainable
on my hands and knees, I bend to scrub
O despairer, here is my neck,
By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.
The promise of a dollar for this elbow shit deep denigration
Still the best job I have ever had.
Jack Sadicario
Jack (or Jackee) Sadicario calls both New York and Philadelphia "home" in abstract but is currently living in Richmond, VA. With Alina Pleskova, Jack co-edits bedfellows, a Philadelphia based literary magazine focused on intimacy & relationships bedfellowsmagazine.com. The tenth issue, an anthology of previous contributors, is currently being released in installments online. A chapbook length portfolio of their poems entitled Herd | Buffalo poems was published in the last printed Verse Magazine Edition. Jack's work can be found in a pizza poem anthology entitled By the Slice out from Spooky Girlfriend Press, trinity review, the grief diaries, & mad house, among other places.