Elegy for My Last Name

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I’d write it in smoke in the sky but I can’t afford the plane
and I can barely blow rings with my Marlboro Lights. Plus,

I’m sick of all these bowling lane puns. There’s too much
drama working for a business that shares your surname.

Forget about Christmas present pink slips; I’m done explaining
to customers what I don’t own, explaining I’m a grunt

in my grandfather’s old clothes. This smile is as fake
as the winter sun. My childless name will live only

through these city contracts to kill roaches. Still, I’m glad
my uniform only lists my first name and even it is shortened.

My name’s in demand during this recessed spring of debt,
when Midwest staycations come with a surplus of bees.

Maybe I’ll write my name after all, pay for it with my credit card,
the bank only 30% interested in what I do, the rain

only 30% possible. When I vanish, my name can vanish too,
like stratus clouds as the lake pounds us with its wind.