Poem: Pizzicato

I’m allowed to be unsure what I do – and unsure of what I do – and unsure why I do it, wondering if I actually achieve it – or anything.

That in fact is my job.

That’s a little bit grim

I guess.

But hey, at least that grimness gets surpassed by the pay-check

that hardly ever arrives.

My father makes that sign from the movie Reservoir Dogs

rubbing his finger an…