minimum wage

time has no meaning
when i walk in that back door
and put a nametag on my turquoise polo,

my ball and chain.

suddenly, time disappears,
a figment of this dreamer's mind
tick-tocking away like mad just beyond the revolving door.

watch it dance and play
as we stand, straight-faced,
waiting, praying, begging for the day to end.

it's a conspiracy.

inside that building,
we watch as the hands slow
and finally, once we pass the first hour, it stops

and laughs.

i think management
does it on purpose to steal from us
those few extra hours without pay.

it's stupid, but
it's just the kind of joke
they'd play on us poor minimum-wage zombies.

shove it, corporate bastards.

i don't need your 5.95.
i don't need your 8-hour shifts.
(well i do, but maybe living at home won't be so bad).

i quit.