They groan and growl.
Their faces contort into scowls
Upon every fleeting mention
Of the word "customer."
Can't they see
I'm here to be
A success?
They forget the rest.
They lie behind the first set of curtains. Yet many more remain.
The books are never balanced.
Cutting corners, cutting pay.
It's what I do all day.
I'm there for their pain.
That's what they all say.
Yet, I find a way
To keep this place alive.
They know not how hard I strive.
I'm just their "boss."
.......................
I won't make it.
I can't fake it.
He just won't go away.
There's a new problem every day.
I don't want to stay.
No matter what I say.
It's in one ear, out the other.
He can't call me a brother.
He lies, he docks my pay.
I never saw a raise.
Forget any sort of praise.
I'm just the latest mistake.
A freak, tattoos emblazon
My ugly face.
Where else would I go.
How would I know
If they could find a place
For me? That's all I have.
Keeping me here.
Rooting me to the tiles.
The greased floor smiles at me.
The place itself knows I'm trapped.
It knows I'm losing the race
Against time gone to waste.
I can't replace
All the people I hate.
So I just watch the clock...
And wait...
YOU ARE READING
Song of Sorrows Past
PoetryA poetry collection focusing on several perspectives of the world around us. Scope and splendor are irrelevant in a world that begs for the peering eye upon every corner of its vast terrain. Society tends to forget that which will endure beyond any...
