Money talks

Can’t wait to be in Paris

Sell my soul for a future

Shave my beard

                             No longer an individual

                             Not up to me how I look

Money talks, decides how I should feel, act, talk

                             Smile

The next however many months, my soul is no longer mine

 

Can’t wait to be in Paris

Be told when to wake up

                             When to s**t, piss, eat, get dressed

Ask permission to use the toilet

Taking another coffee wondering if I am allowed to leave reception

Be grateful for the fact that I am making them money

 

Can’t wait to say no to that girl who wants to see the sunrise,

                             Because of some arbitrary responsibility

Because of bookings needed to be made

Phones to be answered

Because money talks and the Chinese have it no matter how they look at you

 

Can’t wait to be in Paris

Be told to smile more

Stress about finishing my morning coffee in time

Not to be late to some German asking me whatever she is asking me,

                     In german

Can I go out for a cigarette?

No, you need to stay in the reception

It’s what you’re paid for

Or your dreams will remain just that, dreams

 

Feel guilty arriving two minutes past the clock

Having my life depend on whether I please the boss

Puh, I laughed at his joke

Made it through another day

 

Can’t wait to be in Paris

To be part of a team

Where one plays the game to perfection

Another just as afraid as me

Smiling at your boss’ every joke

                             Because you cannot afford not being liked

 

To suck up, play the game of selling your soul

                             For 8 euros an hour

Name after name on a screen, typing

Hours of wasting paper

The daily routine of…

same, same, same

Watching the clock … tick… by, counting quarters of an hour

Wondering how the hell I can make it enjoyable

Of having to answer the phone with a given phrase

 

 

 

Reviews

[barleygirl]

As in the other poem of yours I just reviewed, you are exceedingly talented at being gut-level honest -- a very appealing aspect of writing, since pretty platitudes bore me to tears. But again, this well-written, nicely detailed, stark painting of life in a boring-a*s job makes me want to launch into a tirade becuz it's dripping with ATTITUDE (& not a pleasant one). You've succeeded in painting a word picture so intense, it provokes the reader to a strong response (a good thing). However, this person's attitude may end up trapping him/her in such a boring-a*s existence for quite some time, I'm afraid.