“A dull boy”

by Ben Smith

My dad owns a business
And sometimes the workers
Will come around early in the
Mornings and pick weeds for
Extra cash.

I see them out there
From my bed room window as i
Put on my overalls
And hide empty wine bottles.

Their smokes
Like clouds and their
Shakey old hands
Full of little
crushed flowers

At the factory there is a bullet
Hole in the clock somewhere
Between the number
three and
The hour hand.

The office desk has a tube
Of anusol that is covered in dust
And an old issue of people
Magazine.

Just old men
shooting clocks
and picking flowers
for a few bucks
on their way
to death
or a beer at the
local.