The bag boy

by Josh Olsen

The bag boy
was a tall skinny white man
with a thin greasy pony tail
and prison tattoos.

He handled my groceries with care,
placing each item
in its own individual plastic bag
before laying them together
into a larger paper bag.

Wasteful, I thought,
but it must have been a source of pride,
compared to the other bag boys,
who mindlessly stuffed
to the brink of hemorrhage.

I wanted to ask him
what he was doing there,
how he ended up
at the end of lane 5.

Was it a second chance?

But I was positive
the answers I imagined
were far more romantic
than the truth.

So, I kept to myself.

"God bless you, brother," he said
as he handed me my load,
then turned his attention
to the next customer in line.

Oh, Lemmy

by Josh Olsen

I sat in a brightly lit corner,
scribbling.
I'd been filled
with the desire to write again,
it felt good,
and I attributed it
to my new Moleskine.
Like Hemingway and Van Gogh,
it promised on the packaging.

Over my shoulder,
two men washed the windows
and I placed a forearm
over my words,
though I was sure
they couldn't give a fuck.
They had a job to do,
and they were probably laughing
at the faggot with the purple pen.

An Asian boy and his sister
turned on a videogame
which featured the opening riffs
of "Ace of Spades" –
Oh, Lemmy,
I hear your music
and I want to skull-fuck
a skinhead.
But there aren't any here
in the McDonald's Playplace.