I've been slacking on my poeming lately but here are two of the latest. If you're not feeling slightly serious probably don't read the second one.
"My Job In Relation to the Topic of Hell"
Endless typing, typing, typing.
Hold. No hold. Loan. No loan.
Country music in the background.
Oh and that phone ring!
“Is that a fire alarm?”
“No it’s just our phone”
Count your drawer
Count your coin
Count the number of times you’ve said,
“Hi, I’m Ashlee. How can I help you today?”
Count the number of times you’ve said,
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that.”
“That’s against our policy.”
I know, you hate me, I get it.
I’m the devil.
I know.
"Stop"
Sometimes you have to stop moving with the world.
Going backward isn’t the answer–never was.
But your body seems to lack the strength, hurled
Against a wall that seems to block your attempted withdraws.
I remember crying and you asked me to stop.
And I couldn’t.
Couldn’t stop from fearing that potential drop.
And I wouldn’t.
Wouldn’t let go because it felt good somehow.
I realize that’s all wrong now.
Very funny (the first poem, not the second). I know how you feel. I almost wish I got paid according to how many times I say, "This is Dave." That's not necessarily our company policy, but it is polite. I guess.
ReplyDeleteum, hello? i had no idea you had a blog til i saw your comment on ours. this makes me so happy! especially since you share stuff you wrote! i love you lots!
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