Dying For a Dead End Job

Living from day to day, Trying to make life a better day. Doing the best you can, To keep food on your plate, And cool air from your fan. Bettering yourself , The only way you know how. Constantly wiping, The sweat from your brow. Satisfying the same rude boss And customers working so hard, To not let them get the best of us. Crying out to your family at home, Because you and your colleagues Don’t get along. Going home to answer the phone. Finding yourself, doing the same Things at work as you do at home. The same old job that causes you To prematurely age can’t pay You more than minimum wage. While at home watching your T.V., Hoping and dreaming, to have a crib Like a celebrity, you hope to have a Chandelier like theirs. Then you look up At your raggedy light fixture. Getting the Blurry image of you sitting in an old beat Up chair. You’re thinking, “Hey, I work every day.” “I work very hard, and I can’t even get My job’s credit card.” “What can I do?” “I can do nothing but sit here and sob.” “My health in success is failing, all Because I’m dying for a dead end job.” wrote in college while sick of retail work (2003-2004) somewhere in that time