People Kept an Eye on Me

by Kevin Brown

 

I only attended one sporting event
in college, had to work
my way through
poverty by putting people’s cans
and boxes into paper bags,

weigh produce
my family wasn’t familiar with:
bok choy, papayas, plantains.

My roommate was fluent in French,
was rereading our Humanities curriculum,
his third time through The Odyssey,

while I was an academic Nobody,
spoke Southern
and standard English, not as clever
as I thought.

My roommate said he couldn’t study
while the sun was out,
but I wasn’t poor enough
for Pell Grants,

nor rich enough to afford a car
as reliable as my work schedule,
spent most evenings and every weekend
—rain or sunshine—

scanning groceries and assignments,
read Great Expectations while working
the express lane—
every customer had an opinion on Dickens

                               (Why are they making
                               you read that?
                               or
                               I hope you’re savoring
                               this experience)—

memorized management strategies
in-between orders
and our co-manager coming by,
suspicious of any cashier

seeking a college education,
wouldn’t work like those who
needed this career,
ones who had no alternative,
no means of escape.