by Jeffrey Parren
Money makes you do crazy things.
In seating yourself because
“I’ve spent a ton of money here
and I’m not waiting forever
in some line to be sat by a hostess,”
you’ve shown yourself a pompous fool.
In trying to make me your servant
you’ve aligned yourself
as a servant to money.
It’s given you this false sense of power
over those around you
over the world
and I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong.
If we were two guys on the street
and you spoke to me in that smug tone
with that smug face and horrible look of disdain,
your ass would be on the ground
and my fist would be sore
from knocking your lights out.
Be lucky that my livelihood depended
on me keeping my cool;
and yes, I am a servant to paying bills,
though if I wasn’t
a lesson I would have given.
You’re lucky beyond words
treating someone as poorly as you did
who has access to your internal well-being,
that I have morals that outreach
the urge to destroy you.
I just have to live with the knowledge
that one day you’ll get your lesson,
and unfortunately it will always be
one day too late.
Posted on 01/23/2016
Copyright © 2021 Jeffrey Parren
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/28/16 at 03:36 AM|
Your self control is admirable. His gall is amazing, as food is easily adulterated in retribution. A sad commentary on what some consider their special place in life. Well done.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 03/17/17 at 06:22 PM|
It is a good write Jeffrey! And I suspect any number of us might have never considered those serving us in more ways than we ever think of. I think that is especially true of people like firemen, doctors, nurses, and those working in factories producing things we might or might not use. Maybe even those who write poetry? Take care.