My New Job

A Poem by jennip

a poem about my new job

I work at a nursery.
Not the kind with toddlers
but one with flowers and plants.
Every day I come home and scrub
my hands to get rid of the smell
of moss and soil. I can still
sense it for hours afterwards
on days when it rains. I’m learning
a little about plants, how to force
a bloom and trim the green
to promote better growth.
Mostly people want impatiens,
tea roses and pinks.
Some of the customers are nice,
the old ladies with wrinkles
so deep I want to fill them
with plaster. Their hands are slow
but strong as they search
giant purses for one last
penny. The younger ones treat me
like dirt, especially the women.
They don’t call me sweetie
or even girl, but they say
enough with their eyes. I take it
and flirt with their husbands,
boyfriend, knowing I could steal
them away. I rub my arms
against husbandly arms and feel
their bodies tighten. I touch them
and smile. The other day, a wife
came over while I was standing
by her man in the middle
of an ocean of New Guinea
hybrids. She tapped my shoulder
hard three times and asked
what do you think you’re doing?
I didn’t know. I still don’t.
But I plucked a spent flower
and put it in my apron pocket.
Behind her, behind it all, a ghost
moon rose in the afternoon sky.
If I close my eyes now
I can still see it.