I Hate This Job


I Hate This Job


This job of being dumped by you

is one which every morning

I arrive early for

and every night I clock out late

my love requires that I be on call

and so it calls me

when I can’t reach your office

I set up base camp

beside an abandoned mini van

between a burning lightbulb factory

and an incomplete parking garage

at the end of every bar

that will still have me

sketch long lines along the margins

of your pink slip


a broken heart

is worse than one hundred

cantankerous foremen


I’ve told them

“I quit, you viscous fuckers!”

more times than Cagney resented Lacey

They smoke thick cigars, knowing

damn well that I’m not that serious

grunting authoritatively like a wild geese fest

“Get back to work you fucking clown.”




(from my book Avenge me. Baobob Tree Press)

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