The triplet tribe

 
 
There's twins
who regularly  
do night shifts
inside my store  
 
non-identical,
 
he's a jack
the lad type
 
always has  
a comeback  
for anything
thrown down
the headsets
 
and mumbles  
like south-east  
road men who  
claim joggers  
are clothes,
 
she's a quiet
kind of chick  
 
always gets on  
reserving her
opinions until  
shift curtains
come to close
 
of course, always  
filling me in on her  
thoughts as every
member fades into
background matter.
 
 
They call me  
the lost triplet
 
because the same  
work ethic courses
through our boiling
working-class blood,
 
yeeting out the same  
overpriced necessities  
like they mean nothing  
in our designated aisles
 
because we don't
get paid enough to
give a single fuck,
 
it's an unspoken  
oath of clocking in
just to work your
way out of hell
 
by dropping bombs  
in the correct places  
marked by tickets
sitting on shelves,
 
if new blood comes
wandering in store
we consider those  
sleepy landmines
being triggered,
 
how damned it is
finding ourselves
listening to clocks  
grinding our bones
past midnight hour.