“Hey, you! Don’t let that tower topple.” It is the most Head Chief has said to me in eight months, so I give him a nod and pick up my pace.
The job is simple. Sop up the slop from the bottom of the used pots and pans and wring the muck into a container marked, “Next Day’s Special.”
I am basically a human squeegee.
Anyways, I’d only taken this shit job to save up for my next SIM. Last year, it was a safari in space.
In time, I sit thousands of feet above the sea. Ski the cloud slope. Sip cocktails made with holy water. Stroll streets of solid gold in style.
Before I know it, the rag is heavy with today’s gravy. I squeeze it extra hard to make sure every drop gets transferred, but in my mind, I’m in paradise.
© 2023 | K. Hartless
d’Verse Poet’s Pub | Prosery: Meditation (144 words exactly)
Artwork: Lowell’s Story
“In space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea”
From May Sarton, “Meditation in Sunlight”





Leave a reply to Tricia Sankey Cancel reply