At the warehouse where I work
the light comes through at
Through windows
The garage door
Through gaps underneath
doors
The glare of florescent lights
hits my eyes and I have gotten
used to it as I have gotten used
to non-fat milk
In prisons across the world
people wait to see daylight
while others have given up
that hope
And in the warehouse,
I disinfect mattresses
Some smooth, some lumpy,
some sunken, taking on the
shape of those who have lain
on them
And a mattress comes in from the VA,
blue and wide and I think of an
aircraft carrier even though I’ve never
been on one
I am told,
the man who had it
recently died
I take the mattress, spray it with
disinfectant and scrub it under the
watchful florescent light
I leave it to dry,
and return 30 minutes later
On the mattress is an old man
whose eyes search my face while
my eyes search his
How you doin’ pop?” I ask
I’m ready to go to a better
place, he answers, or maybe
a worse one
Help me up
I take a hold of the man’s arm
and pull him to his feet
Hand me my shirt and pants
he dresses himself and
asks, where’s my tie?
In your pocket, maybe, I say
And he ties his tie as if he’s
getting ready for the senior prom
This way, sir, I say
And the man walks towards the
garage door and the light hits him
and now he is young
Where are you going?’ I ask
To the prom he says, smiling
He walks away and I watch
until he disappears
I close the warehouse door
and walk back to the cleaning
station to disinfect another bed
from the VA.
(c) 2023 Tony Robles
