Night shift

Carlos E Morazán

The ladies who carpooled to get here

Force-feeding, like mothers do,

Rapacious glass bottles sliding over a casino-

Green conveyor belt

Lads clad in plastic helmets

Furthering the metaphor of the food chain

Jamming the sterile-white truck

With its solid, brown marrow filling

I count enough boxes of nail polish and perfumes

Before I slap the first truck twice

Twice because a single spank is only for a lover

And doing it three times would be rude

Rudeness that only my punching card deserves

For mocking me when I leave there and arrive here

It might get a revenge one day

But the 12th round is always mine