Money, money, everywhere,
But not a single cent to spare,
For waiters like me, who bust their asses,
To serve the guests by the masses.
A filthy bathroom and crew quarters,
Goddamn Greeks, those fucking hoarders.
New extension going up,
Without a thought to those who put in the hardest work.
Oh how it seems so Ironic.
Note: Once again a corny poem, this one sorta rhymes. Written on a napkin Sunday night at work, expressing my feelings about how the owner chooses to spend his money. All for what the guests see, none for what I see, behind closed doors.
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What are you trying to do impress me??? If so, you did.
ReplyDelete+3...Make a note about the extra point on your grade sheet.
I feel you man, I used to bus / wait tables. Great poem, I feel the hate (though that might just be because I hated the job)Keep writing uncensored raw poems, you're good at them
ReplyDeleteNice poem. I laughed the whole time reading it haha
ReplyDeleteHello, my name is Laura Hefele and I am Dr. Russo's graduate assistant. I will commenting on your blog from time to time.
ReplyDeleteTristan, I think you underestimate yourself. Your poem is very good. Keep going and have more faith in your abilities :)
that was really good, thats weird that you would say you can't write poetry.
ReplyDeleteWow! i was definitely impressed by this. you said you couldnt write poetry and this was soo good and really funny.. i totally didnt expect this.. great job keep it up!
ReplyDeletethis isnt corny at all man, thats just some real shit. i think its pretty clever. i like it. people just suck.
ReplyDelete