Quit my job
It made me ill. How bad was it? Well, I wrote a poem about the suckage:
Work Coma
Ding.
It doesn't ring like a normal phone
Ding.
It pierces the silence
A punctured lung
The constant sigh returns
A fake smile musters appearance
For the thousandth time today
Eyes blurring
Head pounding
Fingers moving out on their own
Typing the same keys over and over
It's been done a million times before
Your demands amuse me
Your lies interrupt
I would have tried
Perhaps
To help
Maybe
The personalities you expose
to no one else
The cruelties normally hidden
Open now, recorded for all
In the beginning
The stories were new
The dramas unheard
Each bloody gash
Every dying breath
All 7 minute contractions
A chance to help
Now . . . it's too late
I've heard it all before
104 degree temperatures
Rabid dog bites
Broken air conditioners
Nailgunned eye sockets
Full of enthusiasm
no longer
Bored by your heart attack
Ennui at your emergency
No, I don't know your flight number
No, I am not your punching bag
You have a tendency to yell
to abuse
to cry
to threaten
I have caller ID
I have a button to hang up on you
Mick once said:
“You can't always get what you want.”
And no, I am not a plumber
You want your lawyer at 2am?
You demand your test results
on a Sunday?
Your fantasy world makes me laugh
You're going into labor?
Your kid was bit by a snake?
Your airplane caught fire?
These are my territory
But you have to work with me
No, I can't spell your made up name
Your mom dreamed up
During the epidural
No, I can't reach your doctor
Who I've never heard of
Who is on vacation
In Guam
Until the end of the year
Mick had a point
More poignant that “Paint it Black”
You want A
I have B
Resign yourself to my offerings
Or strangle yourself with the phone cord
At least that Ding
That mind-numbing
Calm-killing
Nerve-racking Ding
Would then have a point
And be something new
And take my mind off
The 6000 previous calls
That led to Work Coma
And made this coffee
Even more bitter
Than the morning person made it
~
Work Coma
Ding.
It doesn't ring like a normal phone
Ding.
It pierces the silence
A punctured lung
The constant sigh returns
A fake smile musters appearance
For the thousandth time today
Eyes blurring
Head pounding
Fingers moving out on their own
Typing the same keys over and over
It's been done a million times before
Your demands amuse me
Your lies interrupt
I would have tried
Perhaps
To help
Maybe
The personalities you expose
to no one else
The cruelties normally hidden
Open now, recorded for all
In the beginning
The stories were new
The dramas unheard
Each bloody gash
Every dying breath
All 7 minute contractions
A chance to help
Now . . . it's too late
I've heard it all before
104 degree temperatures
Rabid dog bites
Broken air conditioners
Nailgunned eye sockets
Full of enthusiasm
no longer
Bored by your heart attack
Ennui at your emergency
No, I don't know your flight number
No, I am not your punching bag
You have a tendency to yell
to abuse
to cry
to threaten
I have caller ID
I have a button to hang up on you
Mick once said:
“You can't always get what you want.”
And no, I am not a plumber
You want your lawyer at 2am?
You demand your test results
on a Sunday?
Your fantasy world makes me laugh
You're going into labor?
Your kid was bit by a snake?
Your airplane caught fire?
These are my territory
But you have to work with me
No, I can't spell your made up name
Your mom dreamed up
During the epidural
No, I can't reach your doctor
Who I've never heard of
Who is on vacation
In Guam
Until the end of the year
Mick had a point
More poignant that “Paint it Black”
You want A
I have B
Resign yourself to my offerings
Or strangle yourself with the phone cord
At least that Ding
That mind-numbing
Calm-killing
Nerve-racking Ding
Would then have a point
And be something new
And take my mind off
The 6000 previous calls
That led to Work Coma
And made this coffee
Even more bitter
Than the morning person made it
~