the milk crate

i sit on the edge of the mattress. take off the steel-toe boots. peel down the white athletic socks. there they are. thick blue worms crawling up the calf. thirty years on the concrete at Lockheed. they look like a map of a place nobody wants to drive to. the right leg's worse than the left. a heavy purple knot behind the knee. i rub it with my thumb. it feels like hot rope under the skin. the alarm clock hums on the milk crate. six hours until the next shift. i reach for the ashtray.