Waitress in the parking lot
yelling at her bf on the cellphone
Waiter folding napkins
in the back
as I stand at the register
waiting to be seated
for over 5 minutes
Waitress hollers at the bf
storms in I ask to be seated
out of the way
but only one area is “open”
I’m crammed in
with the jabbering hoi polloi
But I need that free wifi now
so I adibe, type up my
necessary work and email
it in to the place that pays me
Mindless music blares away
despite the hour
just as it does everywhere now
the coffee arrives
and I think about those who
hate Poe for marrying
his Virginia though she was
very young while those same
fools cheer and vote for
politicians who
got away with raping little
girls on Epstein’s Island
The coffee is cold
As I try to do some paperwork
for the place that pays me
But my eyes glaze over
So I come to the page
where I type in poems
that perhaps a few like
though they never comment
or pay 2.99 to buy the novel
that I thought might save me
and my rescue cats
And I think about young men
dying in foxholes, watching their
intestines ooze out of their bodies
after the gernades explode
while the politicians who
sent them there rape little
boys in the oval office
then pray to Jesus
to help them find
the patience to make
it through the next campaign
And if you doubt that that
could be true, just read
The Franklin Scandal
It’s true
I order the build-your-own
breakfast with eggs and
cheese They’re out of cheese
which is just fine because
they torture the poor dairy
cows to death Then I remember
that I’m a failed vegan too
though I won’t eat the poor
pigs and I try to avoid meat
I type a few more lines
even if no one really reads
my work My working theory
is that writers often “like”
other writers work simply
so that their work will be
“liked” back And I’ve
clicked on those folks
who’ve like my work
but most of the time
I can’t even find their
work, or when I do
their works are so long
that my minds fails me
halfway through Those
writers who do get
many likes tend to
be young and cute
I find a nook just
quiet enough to
call in sick to work
I’ll go home and sleep,
feed the cats, and
dream just long
enough to renew
the fight to make
it through though
it doesn’t look good
— FB, author of MAIL-ORDER ANNIE
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 