Trying to reconjour
a stream of conciousness
because technology doesn't like me
and
nor do cliches
distaste
walking around tables
clearing up plates
asking stupid questions
in the name
of the full service
I see an existence so sad
it'd feel sorry for me
if it felt
and I'd laugh
but not out loud
at the painted faces
at the sad clowns
at the scrutiny
of the 60k plus
late twenty
thirty somthings
and their penchant for dissaproval
amid the same conversation
from the corner of an eye
seeking smudges on cutlery
or a comment that will amuse their workmates
as the homeless Aboriginal lady walks by
just for them
I think about my failings
the ones I can see
and thank God
that I am no success
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