A Living

There is a row of light
switches on the wall.
They go: off on off on
off on on on. I count
ceiling lights for a living
and it doesn’t pay very well,
not it doesn’t get me much
money at all, but it’s
simple and I’m the same,
so we’re a great match,
that is, we are a pair of matches,
burning up the air molecules
and stealing oxygen
from third-world countries,
where my aunt vacations
on Saturdays and sometimes
Mondays when she doesn’t want
to go to work, counting
the lights on the ceiling.