I am a line cook
Every day I write a list Iced coffee, check resos, ibuprofen Dice, cut, sear Roasting bones, bending over, twisting Mistreated back protests, keep going Mirepoix next, tomato paste, bones, water Simmer, run to the bathroom Second cup of coffee, half a carrot snack Checking things off my list Cutting, slicing, fileting Am I ready? Picking soft herbs, peaceful 5 pm, service time, Hungry people descend. Ticket printer squawks, here they come Just a warm-up “Four pasta, new, six all day” Sous chef yells, and preoccupied cooks answer How long on table 25? Five minutes, it’s always 5 minutes Adrenaline and caffeine rush A full board A full room Controlled chaos Ribeye mid rare! Fire! Tickets are coming fast now The ticket machine is howling That burn on my left-hand hurts Every time I put it over the grill My hands spasm Water, Gatorade, ice My knees creak every time Last ticket, last plate Soapy water, wipe, clean, scrub Squeegee, shine, mop Discard dirty uniform Into overflowing laundry bin that Smells like rotten meat. Train ride home, nodding, dreaming Dinner is microwave pizza, cold beer, We eat like shit Sleep, repeat.