Make It Take It Maybe, Baby, I Know

Though I have this cargo bed,
I have a plastic bottle of water that is lukewarm
And it still is able to cool me.

I fell in the street before and that was terrible.
The sun blistered my day and my papers with the deliveries
Were tattered and confusing after I picked them up from the ground.

This furniture is good furniture, too.
I crafted it and my sisters and them, they polished and put decorations
On it.
I am proud.
Imagine that. Me proud of something that benefits my living.
And I got gas money.
I don't have to fret 'bout the gas money.
This truck here carry me very nicely I must say.

Yes, I can surely say that a customer's smile is worth a boss' grunt. It's true.
My boss don't say much just look at me and give a little huff or something.
It doesn't bother me so much.
I know what I'm doing when I'm doing right.
I do bad sometimes but I am best on the track.

Deliveries all day give me my way and get me my thinking.
I miss home but I'll be there certainly.

My wife love me. I love my wife.
I work for the both of our benefits.
She know I'm out here for us.

They got some pocket books she likes.
I get hour breaks that give me time to get my lunch and look at those pocket books For her.
I'll bring her one, maybe.
Right now, though, I've got to park this truck
And get these rocking chairs.

That Crunch

When someone places you in a box,
It's like that person twists your arm
In that burning way that you did
As a kid.

There's that space where you
Inflict pain on someone until yelps and cries
Come to end your test.

Then, that person looks at the wring marks on his or her arm.
The sensation deafens the limb.

So that's what that box is like.
Man, it's when they throw out the labels.
You get sliced up with a box cutter,
But the wounds heal?

Maybe you don't get sliced but your mouth is taped up and you can't shout
"I'm really not like that." Or "No, you are mistaken my friend."
But, you're in a box!

Sometimes that person doing the labeling actually gets it right.
You give them kudos.
You're not submissive, not defensive, not trying to kill the moment.

You smile or giggle maybe when the flaps go over your head.
Sunlight or light from a desk lamp is like the hole made from
A Bic pen.

You can only hear the permanent Sharpie spitting and whispering
On your box.

You have the inside on lock,
And no one can take that away from you.

You are essentially a fetus.
I mean that curl, that bunch, that crunch of
You.

Abbr.

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