Everywhere I turn, the kids are finishing up school, donning caps and gowns, looking toward summer. So it seems the perfect time to share this poem by Marcus Jackson that celebrates summer and youthful jobs and the stories we make of them.
I was talking recently about the summer I worked at a clothing store in the mall and my boss sent me to stand in line to buy her Pink Floyd tickets at the record store a few doors down. I didn’t know that I’d look back on those times with affection. At the time I was fixated on how icky it felt to foist an extra belt on someone who just came to browse. Thirty-five years later, I remember the surprise of being near the front of the ticket line as the fans poured in, holding my boss’s cash in my hands.
Of note: A few years ago I posted another summer poem from Jackson, “Ode to Kool-Aid,” and my neighbors snatched every last copy within days. I declared it the most popular poem of the season.
“The richest part was when business
would ebb, and I’d coast the summer streets.”