L

then/ lest the bile in my throat rise so high/ that i explode into a
thousand insults more heinous than thy tiny mind can take/ and you a
wreck on the floor/ I smile sweetly/ say 'thank-you sir, do come
again'/ in my most sacharrine of voices/ then/ 'next please'/ to
another waiting cretin/ pouring his life down the drain and his money
into the back pocket of corporate money launderers/ I hate this job/ i
hate the simpering ghosts of men and the super-macho types/ the shrill
young women and the quaint old dears/ being nice just isn't in my
nature and this place is killing me/ I long for a solitary place/ one
where contact is managed by means of messages placed in bottles/ a job
in an office would do/ figures can't talk back/ or so I'm told/ in this
god forsaken place that's all they do/ all the long day/ even in my
sleep I can't escape the cries of 'GO THREE GO!'/ They are following me
through my dreams.