Pavel Rubin, 9/26/2011
Current Occupation: Gallery Employee
Former Occupation: Greenhouse Supervisor
Contact Information: Pavel Rubin was born on a cold winter night in St. Petersburg, USSR. His family migrated to Israel, and then to Honduras. He finally found himself studying in the US and working in a greenhouse for five years while attending college. Pavel currently resides in Conway, AR where he is pursuing his Masters degree in English.
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Machine
The familiar banal noise wipes the crust off the swollen eyes
Stained pants hurriedly flung upon the waist under dim light
No time for coffee as the engine throttles
Soft smoke rolling out the cracked window
Rough hands pivoting through the lack of scenery
Three minutes early in order to use the bathroom
The familiar bristle of melancholy ink on the brand new piece of light cardboard
Arms stretching towards the faded blue pair of gloves next to nods of recognition
Silent rhythmic movements as an imperfect tune is hummed by the machinery
Anticipation builds with conditioned hunger as the last seconds pass
Hands fiercely scrubbed with vile chemical smelling soap
Toilet paper locked up in a metal box keeps on tearing as you pull on it
Loud horn a minute too early just as backbone stopped hurting the flesh
The things you would do if you were not here
The castles you would build, the feats you would achieve
But the guy next to you is coughing
Sixty three year old thin arms tense up with tight disproportionate muscles
His glasses fog up with sweat not tears
Empty simpleton dreams of sexual conquest as the finish approaches
A final wave at the faces as they blend
Moon obscured by city lights bugs swarming
House smells of stale fumes and carnage
There is hunger by the window
Forget to brush your teeth before sleep
It is fine though, you can do that tomorrow
Early morning toothy grin
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