It said Jericho on my checks
because the machine made us
deaf. A man who lives alone
needs a cat, Jericho
Sugar said, whose knives were always
sharper, whose Ford more jacked,
a veteran of many wives, the first
of two Iraqs, this the third of his
three jobs, third shift, which made it
holy, which meant we could nip
from the break bottle, kick a grit.
You got to clean up the shit
of something you love, Jericho.
Who decided who was what
I'll never know. I could change
my name, turn my liver
black. But when break is over,
I'm on the palletjack. Gary, one eternity
machine over, came to work so drunk
he messed his self, Sugar said,
then ate a tuna sandwich wrapped in
cellophane. I won't describe it
but to tell you how Wonder
Bread crumbs fell on the pallet,
not snow on some mountain,
not the ashes of some burning city
we'll never see. He
offered half that sandwich to me.