Ron Riekki
and what I mean by that is
I live in a workhouse and what
I mean by that is I'm going to die
young, and what I mean by that is
old, but in six years, my life expectancy,
according to my doctor at the V.A., not
that I have any diseases or anything, just
that my body has been Houstoned, it's
been divorced multiple times, from health-
care, it's been churched, couched, coffined,
coworkered, cowed, toasted, tested, twisted,
radiationed, the boss not allowing me to wear
a dosimeter because he didn't want to scare
the other employees, find out how much
we've been getting blasted by x machinery,
securityed to death, the guard shack where
I stood night after night after night after
six guys'd quit, eight had been fired, one
for pissing on camera, pointing it straight
at the camera, them asking him, Didn't
you know the lens was right there?
him asking, what camera? The cameras
that are everywhere, how there is no
escape with minimum wage, how
you're watched to make sure you're
watching at all times, and by all times
I mean all times, Christmastime and
birthdays and midnights and noons
and dusks and worse and when the check
comes, there's a sort of sadness, an under-
standing of the underestimation of
the worth of the human body, with
its tremors—essential tremors?
psychogenic tremors? Parkinson's?
my imagination?—how I seize, how
I remember, with my body, all those
hours I gave up for nothing, for
nothingness, guarding nothing,
looking north, always north, the guard
shack facing north, facing nothing,
a city with lights at night that looked
like they hurt, like it hurt to do their job.