one summer job i loved.

she fired her last housekeeper.
pineapple dripped from his chin and the percolator snore was quiet
as he leaned between her ears, flapping her rug at the last one, airing her laundry,
and other noisy jobs and proving he was a better hire. he needed the work.

in the bedroom that thursday,
they reviewed travel itinerary:
empty bottles cruised across intentions, a mattress ocean floor to end tables.
or maybe a flight with the most layovers where where single serving beam came every 15 minutes for a whole day.

“how about in my car?”
she unfolded the lawnchair of his belt and he thought about the coast.
he popped the clutch.
the fast, sweet, gliss whistled through the window,
bright rose gold licked the windshield.
dirty and wet and hair and denim and

“we’re almost there.”
electrical eyesockets.

he surrenders full-time potential.
she’d have to let him go
once he took her home.

seasonal attendants, cabbies, housekeepers…
what’s the difference, anyway?
she never looked him in the outlets.