Just Another Job


It feels like I have been here for ever.
I peek at my watch .
It reads ten o’three.
I get out at three thirty.

I hate flipping patties
I hate frying the fries
How can people think this food is a pleasant surprise?
It’s so greasy and fattening.
How about an apple instead of a heart attack?

Sometimes I dream I could be an astronaut.
I sometimes become inspired by the little rocket on the paper bags.
I could be zooming around the stars,
Or even land on the moon.

But I am stuck here working this dead end job.
An inmate in a prison.
I can see freedom but can’t quite get there.
So I guess I will just make the best of things while I’m here.