Lion’s Share
Bag rider with the hazard lights ticking on a busted side street
Phone on the dash screaming “hot zone” while the fries go cold in the heat
Restaurant packed
ticket rail hanging low with other folks’ good nights
I’m the ghost with the order number
chewing through my own cheap bites.
I wait twenty extra minutes while they argue over sauce in the back
Clock ticking down while the gas gauge sinks toward black
App still counting down my time like I chose to make it late
Customer hits “where’s my food” while I’m stuck outside the gate.
I’m a food runner chasing tips while the app takes the lion’s share
They skim off every mile I drive like I’m lucky just to be there
By the time the night is over and the roads are empty bare
They’ve eaten first, they’ve eaten best
I get bones and outside air.
I climb three flights, no elevator
carrying somebody’s feast, Ring the bell, step back
hold the bag like some polite, hungry beast
Door cracks just enough to snatch it
face barely shows a grin
They tap a tiny digital thanks that doesn’t reach my skin.
Later I check the summary screen
see the breakdown line by line
Base pay small as a cigarette butt
“service fee” looking fine
Tip sits there like a question mark someone answered with a shrug
While the company pockets double for just flipping one more switch.
I’m a food runner chasing tips while the app takes the lion’s share
Three figures on the receipt
but only one leaves me in despair, Customer pays
platform skims, I’m the last in line to eat
Driving circles round this city just to barely keep my feet.
They call it “partnering” in emails with their canned upbeat tone
Send me bumper stickers and hot bags like that makes these roads my own
But if my engine dies tomorrow
I’m just one less pin on their map
They’ll send a push alert to someone else and never feel the gap.
I park outside a fast-food joint at midnight
lot lit cheap and harsh, Scroll the orders
weigh the distance
check the pay that never quite starts
Decline the ones that pay in pennies for ten miles of stop and go
Then accept one anyway when my wallet says “you know damn well you’ll go.”
End of shift I’m in the drive-through line as an actual customer for once
Order off the dollar side because my night was one long loss
Eat fries that taste like everyone else’s tips and wasted tread
Stare at the app’s “great work” banner like it’s talking to the dead.
I’m a food runner chasing tips while the app takes the lion’s share
They cash in on my hunger and call it “freedom” like they care
When the weekly total posts
it looks big till I subtract Gas, repairs
the time I lost, and the body I’ve ransacked.
One day I’ll kill their login
toss the hot bag in the trunk and close it up
Find work where my actual ID is on the check
not just on some rating cup
Till then I’ll keep delivering dinners I can’t afford to taste
Letting someone else eat first while I burn my nights to waste.