The Intern
Browning carpets
Stained cement
You’re lending time to those far spent
Catering to hands that won’t lift to plows
But you tell others they deserve
Can’t fall in line with those that won’t give just desserts
Assigned here with rumbling bellies
They will multiply
Disconnect and disruption herein lies
You will never return
Loving is a burden
What did God mean?
This is not your purpose
Not your good
You sign in, check out
Count the hours
Get the credit
And honor Lot’s wife
Copyright ©
Te Indi | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
