The horn has blown, quittin’ time! Gather round employees and join ye hands, now we are a circle. A circle of the employed. Representing eternal employment, no beginning no end. Close your eyes, bow your heads, open your hearts, let it flow out of you. And let it be free. Your souls have toiled so hard on the job. And now it is time to release. And so each one of you, in turn, make poem make poem make poem:
Take this job
and shove it
up your butt
like a coconut
Prolapse it
Like the stinkhole
This job is.
Where we work away
From morning ’til night
For very little cash, jack
and extended benefits?
Nope. And our families
ask us, “Why are you so grumpy?”
And we do not answer.
We get drunk.
And let our misery fester
Inside our bodies.
Like fucking cancer.
we are jobbers
who are jobbing
The job
And so it floats and gathers and draws away the ire from the employees and they come to love each other and their place of employment. And then everyone kisses each other with open mouths.