Debt Consolidation

The phone is a window of blue-tinted glass,

watching the ghosts of the payroll class.

I see his old face in a square on the screen,

a man from a season that was jagged and lean.

We stood on the line when the mixer went down,

the sound of the metal was starting to drown.

I watched the boss fire him, stayed quiet and small,

because I was too hungry to stand very tall.

I want to type something, to settle the score,

but the words feel like trash on a concrete floor.

The grease on my shirt won't come out in the wash.

I'm just one more bug that the big wheels will squash.