Burgerflipper.

killing me softly: the burns and blisters,
fat and grease, a creased face layered 
like bad decisions in the harsh of daylight—

full grill, turned with wrist sleight: off the load,
long-bent back; wish I got picked up—
tinnies for the long road, missed buses home,

staff food, flipped quick, nulls a life-day or so,
nauseous, weary, bones-a-clicking, no end,
home by one am, fold with a old soul crushed:

haribo, with scrim for my sins, in a low-lit room.