Two sons

I had, had a rough night yet I showed up at Super Super Market. 

Slicing boxes with box cutters and stocking shelves was the drudgery that I sustained, till the stains of my blood stained the waxed terrazzo floor. 

I hushed my pain with a swift right hand over my left forearm and scurried to Palm Springs Hospital across the street, where they emboldened me six stitches. 

Monday I was back.

Bag boy, stock boy, boy was I. 

Mattering not, I was as erect as I strut today, my shadow casting six foot three inches and begging for nothing. 

I was on bag boy duty and husbanding this meritless task. 

I bagged her lady ship's groceries into her station wagon and she tipped me with a view of a tarantula that never bit me but stained my armor. 

Leaving this scene was like the first breath I had the courage to take, the day I sprung like a leak unto this dessert. 

I kept on keeping on and wrangled shopping carts into a fine line of effort and sweat. 

It was there that destiny caught me off guard, she played a trick on me. 

As somber as I was by the sight of a deteriorated female contraption, destiny had recompense on her mind. 

I dulled the fright of this half hazard encounter with work yourself out of this funk intentions. 

Shopping carts became my Moby Dick, I was in a frenzy to forget. 

That golden ticket showed up, I looked at it and said; that's new book wrapping paper kind of shit. 

The closer I got, I saw how crisp the paper was and how purposely the creases were creased around these sharpened for ever knives. 

I placed my right hand over this and surrendered them to it's rightful owner, the Butcher. 

He looked me up and down, forged his eyes on my young flesh and exclaimed "these are my knives." He repeated "these are my knives."

He cursed at me with these words "may God repay you with two sons".

I still had my stitches yet this elegant guy was wishing me a kingdom.

My life narrated...