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.