The Book of Job

You might have blisters on your hands from all your manual toil. You may be climbing up a pole with an electrical coil. Could be a produce vendor shucking husks from the cob. It’s just a job. You might have permanent employment, or only work from time to time. You may have ring around the collar from industrial grime. Could be working in a hotel kitchen spearing kebabs. It’s just a job. You might regard it a profession, a career, or a chore. You may be forced to punch a time clock when you pass through the door. Could be an undercover agent, or a thug with the mob. It’s just a job You might be laboring like Sisyphus for minimum wage. You may possess a golden parachute for late middle age. Could be widgeting the fittings on a thingamabob. It’s just a job. You might be entry level ready for the corporate sphere. You may be hoping to retire in by the end of the year. Could be cleaning up a crime scene where the vic was a slob. It’s just a job You might be licensed by the state to practice criminal law. You may be framing out a condo with a circular saw. We all need to make a living, even trash-talking snobs. It’s just a job.