Narrative Poem: Help Wanted.

I went to work at Pizza Shack for fifteen dollars an hour.

It was a good gig while it lasted.

Then the boss yelled at me for sneezing on the dough.

So I left. Just threw off my apron and walked out.

There was a bus waiting for me outside. To take me to the rope factory.

Where I got twenty dollars an hour. For inspecting rope.

But that was as dull as dust. 

Sensing my dissatisfaction, I was approached by a headhunter.

She offered me my weight in gold to supervise a robocall center.

In Nebraska.

But who wants to live in Nebraska?

It's a great place . . . if you're a cornstalk.

She sweetened the deal by saying I could instead

go to the island of Bali and handle the robocall center there.

That sounded better, so I took the position.

But when I was flown to Bali the island had sunk.

In a recent typhoon. There was nothing left.

But floating coconuts.

So I went back to Pizza Shack. As the manager.

They let me live in the owner's penthouse apartment.

I bathe in the milk of Assyrian she-asses.

My assistant applies kohl around my eyes twice a day.

I have the power of life and death over thousands.

But still, the work is not all that fulfilling.

So I'm signing up with the Coast Guard in April. 

I already passed their physical.