Meijer Poem by Justin Reamer

Checkout lanes at maximum capacity,
Customers by the thousands, waiting;
Uneasy reticence amplified by a million,
Accompanied by queasy fidgeting,
The clicking of fingernails against teeth,
The tapping of writing utensils on the wall,
The cracking of knuckles echoing like
My eardrums popping at extreme depths,
I can barely focus on my job.

People watch me with piercing eyes,
Arrows from an archery line
Aimed at me from a medieval fortress,
Attempting to cease my activity altogether.
The conveyor belt, full of food I will never eat,
Continues to carry the products as
I move each item like a factory machine
From hand-to-hand, mano-a-mano,
To the plastic bags to the left of me.

The beeping of cash registers echoes
Throughout the entire corridor like
Impatient car horns on a Manhattan block;
People share, think, and ponder, but
Fail to see the man behind the desk.
To them, I am the computer, grabbing food,
Pushing buttons, and rotating the wheel,
Another insignificant cog in the engine.
I, however, possess no identity,
Other than a programme stripped of humanity,
Forever a piston in the machine.