The Working Day Lady Died

August 4, 2010

The Working Day Lady Died

It’s 1349 on the fief and I’ve got 163 holidays

my colleagues and their offspring know

Bastille Day is no holiday! so I just get

my joints scuffed because I go straight from

one demarcated zone without my species

essence to chaos: sweet, domestic, and high;

filling it with mescal and snuck smokes,

head out the window like a fucking

crane. some of my colleagues shrug about

“every day a beating”, it’s all abstraction

and no nectar. Little lambs love to watch

their friends sheared. My batsuit. My shred

passports. My dead co-workers. Dead

on Bastille Day, weird.

Brandon Brown is from Kansas City, Missouri. Poems recently in Brooklyn Rail, Try!, Sprung Formal, West Wind Review. His friends have published chapbooks. Memoirs of My Nervous Illness (Cy Press), 908-1078 (Transmission), Camels! (Taxt) and the forthcoming Wondrous Things I Have Seen (Mitzvah Chaps). He publishes small press books under the imprint OMG!.

See more of Brandon Brown’s work at:


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