When I leave, the heart will still
be the heart: the sandwich-
slapping, table-wiping, cash-
transacting, underpaid workers.

We all try to do the best
we can with what we have.
Broccoli cheddar soup is out
for the night– who am I

kidding? This was how to sell
myself for the smallest amount
possible: part-time work,
no benefits except

the benefit of not being
there more of the time.

(originally published in Northampton Poetry Review, Spring 2019)