Cashier’s Conceit

I am a cyborg attached
to a computer by a thick cord
that comes out of my wrist.
I can feel the metal in my arm,
the little divots
that allow it to bend freely
as I twist and move. Inside the cord,
wires spiral into me, around my spine
and into my stomach.
I feel like a rebellious zombie, in
the way I smile
at the kids in the stroller,
and the old lady
reaching for two pennies in her purse.
Soup, they all seem to be making,
but I’m just standing here
punching in numbers and
asking the same questions, wondering
whether the universe needs the receipt
or if I should recycle it.

– – –

I wrote this about a year ago, as I was getting settled into working at the Coop. Much of it still has meaning. Though, I assure any wandering eyes that I have no mal intent for the wonderful place I work, and the wonderful people that I work with. I think just being a cashier necessitates a degree of derision.

Posted in Poems by Preston on October 26th, 2011

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