Full Time

A Poem for the Chronically Ill Worker

Photo by XPS on Unsplash

Full Time

I wonder if they called
The supermarket where I worked
Back in college, when
The thought of food
Sent me to the restroom
And some days my arms
Would suddenly give out
While I carried milk
Across the store floor.
I wonder if they heard
About the migraines
With quarter-sized blind spots.
I pray that just saw
The impressive credentials,
The…