the last job

the last job i had,
one where i went everyday
or enough days in a row to feel
like i went everyday,
was not so bad.

the best times
were when i would wake
in the dark
walk behind the house
to the old garage.
haul my bike out
and pedal through
morning drizzle.
grey light appearing at the edges
and the puddles still catching
street lights.

i would be the first through the doors.
everything was gleaming
tipped up and put in place.
i would pull two shots
and pour the thick dark coffee
into a heavy white mug.

i would flip up the bright lights in back
and the juke box would moan to life.
if i was lucky it would be tom waits
singing to the rain

i would grab a crisp bright white apron
fold the top half down and wrap the strings
around my middle twice, tying in front.
i would turn the dials, bending down
to watch underneath the scrubbed silver slab
as the blue flame would burn to life, all down the line.
turn it to the perfect heat for hash.

i would ready the batter,
grab a fresh tray of eggs.
set up my favorite spatulas.
drink my coffee leaning on the warming grill
and wait for them to arrive,
walking out of the rain.