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Tag: Keith Leonard

Grocery Store Manager

Manager likes to find ways

to entertain himself.

He’ll work the register too.

Just like us. He won’t

step in the freezer,

but will greet patrons

at the door. Manager

asks me to start wearing pants

without holes in our

quarterly meeting. The meeting

is held on the break room couch

with many upholstery holes.

I can look purposeful

like a weathervane.

Then he says, I know you don’t

want to be here, and Manager admits

he wanted to be an architect,

and even went to school for it,

but says this to the floor,

quietly, and so, like the floor,

I do not speak. The floor nods.

Manager went to the produce guy’s

metal concert once—he didn’t

seem to care for it, but he went.

I can respect that. Sometimes

I wish I could just go home,

is not something Manager says

because he doesn’t have to.

Manager doesn’t have to ask

if I too feel like a coat rack

nailed to the floor.

from Poetry Northwest 10.2 Winter & Spring 2016More by Keith Leonard from the library

Copyright © Keith Leonard
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.