Edibles, lifted by rough-skinned fingers,
As a network of crimson lasers light their way,
A nurturing hand over a keypad lingers,
And teams with squinted eyes to press bold figures,
Forming proper codes to end each patron’s short stay,
Channeling endless restlessness to those rough-skinned fingers.
The hours drag on as fresh-faced candy-slingers,
Fling their rainbow loot onto a belt of charcoal gray.
As they make their getaway, an aching back still lingers.
Again another circus parade of repeat labor-bringers
Challenges the frantic soul, never to have its day,
And fails to purchase any peace of mind for those rough-skinned fingers.
Sore, cushioned feet stand alongside speedy checkout stringers,
While all sacrifice body, feist, and time for abridged, dissolving pay,
Never able to buy out of that abysmal black which lingers.
Behold the plight of an economic harbinger!
Turn a blind eye as she falls to the floor to pray.
Drown out the silent pleading of those rough-skinned fingers.
Forget her name as her face in fluorescent darkness lingers.