While You Spit in my Face

two thousand euros
a month
but only if you work
all evenings
otherwise it is sixteen hundred
and that pays for bills and rent
but not life

i got spat on
by a covid patient
he has dementia
and doesn’t want
to take his pills

fucking murder
you are all trying to murder us

i try to calm him down
with a blue gloved hand
on his purple one
cold, ill circulated
probably dying

he spits again
there’s a hole
in my glove

the instagrammer gets
three thousand euros
to post a badly lighted picture
of a bottle of perfume
because her work
is deemed more valuable
than mine
and don’t give me that
everybody’s work is valuable shit
the virus put that dream to bed
we don’t need your shit

i lift a dead grandad
from his wheelchair
for sixteen hundred euros
a month
and live in a shoebox
with five other people
who fuck too loud
and burn toast

i hold his upper body
because i am still young
my workmate broke her back
when she passed fifty
so she gets the feed

the footballer signed
a million euro contract
because he can only work until
age thirty eight
poor thing

i hear trophy wives upped
their rates

dead man’s mouth drops
and i have to put his dentures in
before his mouth stays like this
for all eternity
gaping like the pressure sore
in the lumbar area of
the client in room one o’ six

his mouth is cold
he makes a noise
i hold my breath

shit the this dude
is heavy
but rigor mortis is a thing
and we didn’t want the coroner
to break his legs
because oh my god
the children
the goddamned children

she tells me she is pregnant
while we lift a morbidly obese
woman of the floor
congratulations i say
congratulations the morbidly obese lady says

i check my bank account
minus five hundred
cause my mum told me
i should have
this dead insurance thing
i really should save
she says
i tell her
what i really should be doing
is getting paid
what i’m worth