Retail Worker Blues


Insanity is driving through Taco Bell
after a late shift at Lowe’s
and eating in the car
certain that somehow –
unlike every other attempt ever –
you will not end up with cheese,
lettuce, taco sauce and meat
covering your chest,
decorating your belly mantle
and littering your lap.

And you’ll try again soon –
of course you will –
confident this time of victory
and arriving home unscathed.


Let’s start over.

Try to begin our conversation
without first insulting me
and everyone I work with.
It’s not a good idea, you see,
to piss off the very people
you are turning to for help.
And I’ll be glad to help –
I really will –
but you’ve to stop acting
like the orifice you referenced
when this whole thing began.


Been there, done that.

Not every poem need be deadly serious; eh? I believe I coined a new word in the first poem. (Belly mantle; noun. The ridge created between the breast and the belly when an overweight male is seated.)

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Joseph Neely, all rights reserved

Come back for a new poem

every Monday.