Unemployment Lines

at the unemployment office

I know it can be a two hour deathly wait

before one’s name is called out

so I find a chair and bury my head

in a book that I brought to read

sitting beside me, a man and a woman converse

talk of years past, of people they knew

and Leonard, is he still in prison?

yeah, he’s still doing time

well, that’s good, I guess, means he’s still alive

a young girl walks in, short black halter top

and airbrushed-on jeans

her breasts pouting up past a too-low neckline

the men, the women, all stare

whether they’d like to or not

Leonard’s friends exchange stories

yeah, my ex, she just wants my money

I tell her, well, go work then!

and they laugh between the irony

life, huh, she tells him, it’s crazy, the things we get into,

he agrees

the rest of us caught silently in their exchange agree, as well

his arms are thick with hair

and tattoos of skills

and scrawled out

indecipherable letters of the alphabet

yeah, this chick that was riding with me once, he tells her

got her jacket belt caught on my wheel

I didn’t even know it until I got to the next light

I went back, she was alright, just fell off, didn’t get hurt or nothing

she was pissed though.

“just fell off, didn’t get hurt,” what does he mean?

this story just drops off, I want to know a little more, a lot more

I mean, how fast was the bike going when she fell off

did she ruin the belt, scrape her nose

did they drink a lot of beer afterwards?

and so the time drags by, the line lengthens

now and then people unbury their heads

from their midmorning dragging into noon thoughts

women adjust their bra straps

scold their kids with unfulfilled warnings

the folks behind the counter look at us

holding their half empty cups of coffee

ah, if only there was a dollar for every story