legal prostitution
Jennifer Gentry
you go to retrieve lemons, limes, maybe tomatoes
the steel door opens
and you feel a cool breeze
you are alone with salads and veggies
boxes and bowls
hearing only the hum of the freezer
and the rustling of the cardboard boxes
you can’t hear your laughing, joking coworkers
the noisy customers
the demanding woman with the mustache in section 5
YOUR section
she wants her third refill of Dr. Pepper
and the food wasn’t that great, could she talk to a manager
and don’t worry, she won’t leave a tip
you forget about Carl
(the grubby man on the Harley)
he comes in daily and orders gin and tonics
his nickname is Psycho
he tells you that AGAIN&AGAIN
THAT and his proud stories of drinking
driving
and wrecking
he asks when you want
a ride on his Harley
and you have to be cute and perky and smile and think of a lie,
one that sounds friendly but also conveys,
“NOT ON YOUR FUCKING LIFE”
and you forget about the customer who keeps standing next to you
and “OOPS” touches your ass
you can go tell the manager
or get your twenty dollar tip
you decide
as you walk back into the restaurant
the lemons feel cool in your hands
