I spit grease on my hands, hold up empty bars to last call,
Brandish callouses, olive-colored cancers, and oil-thick blood
Because I work hard.
I’m a diver.
It’s mine and I’ll drown it.
I short-change the bar when we get up and out.
And we spelunk
On camera for the internet.
To take me,
To own me,
But she’ll leave when she learns I spit grease
I know I’m killing her –
Here’s to the hands of a working man.
And cheers to bottomless wells.