Working with COVID
I signed papers saying that I know I could die
of COVID. And that I am OK with this. Except
written in lawyer language where the words
smell like gruel. And I reread the contract tonight,
after another twelve-hour shift, twelve of those
in a row, a gross of shifts, of hours, where I tape my mask
to my face so my glasses don't fog. But my glasses
still fog. And the paperwork says that I'll get $224
every two weeks, if I die. Except not me. My wife
or kids. Except I don't have a wife or kids. So no
one gets the money. So I better not die.
Ron Riekki's latest books are Niiji (Cyberwit/Taj Mahal Review, co-written with Sally Brunk) and I Have Been Warned Not to Write about This (Grandma Moses Press).).