Grow Up or Burn Up

Woke up at ten, the time I was scheduled 

Coffee holding me up straight like a mantle 

Slick back my hair, still looking disheveled 

Look myself in the mirror, frustrated 

Up until four typing a paper, couldn’t make it  

To the finish line 

Today’s the deadline 

I kiss my sleeping girlfriend on her forehead  

I regret that I couldn’t stay in bed 

But I need to work and get this bread 

Bills are coming at my head 

I rush into my Lyft 

Late for my shift 

I walk in to a “glad you could join us” 

My boss’s smirk made me want to grimace 

I’d take out my anger right then and there and be jobless 

If it wasn’t for my Candice 

I relinquish my pride and start prepping  

Cucumber cutting and dressing filling 

Soup heating and dishwashing 

Tomato slashing and potato salting 

Stainless steel cleaning and cutting board cleansing 

I have a stack off too many sixth-pans clanging 

While I notice my reach-in dripping 

I’m frantically wiping, oblivious to the microwave beeping 

The grill cook heats the soup for ten more unneeded minutes 

The ten minutes pass and I reach above my head to grab it  

It’s smoking, scalding and overflowing 

All you heard was me screaming as I saw my arm burning  

I run to the sink in agony and get cold-water running 

I’ve never been hurt before; I feel a panic attack coming 

I dash into the office, my boss is YouTube-watching 

He calls HR, casually dialing  

I’m holding my arm, agonizing 

The person on the line is responsibility-denying 

I’m dizzying and swaying  

The line clicks; my boss starts huffing and puffing  

“You can go to Urgent Care, are you driving?” 

“I don’t have a car or a license” 

“Then I’d start walking” 

It’s a mile, so I start walking 

My arms tingling and aching 

My legs feel like buckling  

I feel like breaking  

But I keep going 

They ooh and ahh and start wrapping and bandaging 

They administer pain pills and I start popping 

The pain doesn’t subside 

On the walk back, I could have cried 

But men don’t get teary-eyed 

They fight the tide 

They roll with the punches 

And don’t show pain to their bosses 

I went in, tied my potato soup-splattered apron 

Covered my second-degree burn, and started working