economy in poetry

every job leaves a scar on you somewhere inside or out
a broken toe from a film set that still aches in the cold
reflexive “I can help you with that” from old terrible phone work
a tendency to use the loo astonishingly fast from courier jobs
having Los Angeles mapped out for where they’ll let you shit
which burger joints and cafes were cleaner than the others
nightmares about who I couldn’t save at the 911 centre
nightmares about who I didn’t suck up enough here or there
all these times we traded our blood labour for money
some remembered punch that still makes us flinch
a map of our lives for better or for worse
another check cashed
another place where it works
I mean where it hurts