And So The Costume Party Keeps On Goin'
Conveyor Belt Degree
I am a piece of sushi
on a conveyor belt,
half-heartedly packed
by chefs with Ph.Ds.
This artless kaiten
graduates sushi like me
in batches of thousands,
laying me down carelessly,
for the scrutiny of HR
departments, who can place
me back on the road, should
their appetites disagree.
To be eaten
or disposed?
If I am not picked
in an hour, my degree
becomes obsolete.
Every morning, I step
on to escalators,
unwilling to walk up,
knowing three years of
my life have been misguided;
too afraid to turn and run
against the automation.
---
Slowly, the shiniest bits of me die. Who will I lie to in job interviews next year? If Halloween is about dressing up as monsters we only want to be for a night, how long more can I mend and re-mend this frequent costume, before it becomes a frightful mélange, a gaudy as hell patchwork of the best financial modules? Surely this is not the outfit that persuades candy.
I want candy.
---
I am a piece of sushi
on a conveyor belt,
half-heartedly packed
by chefs with Ph.Ds.
This artless kaiten
graduates sushi like me
in batches of thousands,
laying me down carelessly,
for the scrutiny of HR
departments, who can place
me back on the road, should
their appetites disagree.
To be eaten
or disposed?
If I am not picked
in an hour, my degree
becomes obsolete.
Every morning, I step
on to escalators,
unwilling to walk up,
knowing three years of
my life have been misguided;
too afraid to turn and run
against the automation.
---
Slowly, the shiniest bits of me die. Who will I lie to in job interviews next year? If Halloween is about dressing up as monsters we only want to be for a night, how long more can I mend and re-mend this frequent costume, before it becomes a frightful mélange, a gaudy as hell patchwork of the best financial modules? Surely this is not the outfit that persuades candy.
I want candy.
---