Quit smoking and got a job.

Tired from waking.
Tired by the ritual of coffee, pills   that I always forget to take.
Tired of preparing food and eating cotton.
Tired of bones full of buckshot,   lead weighting limp wrists.
Tried from walking on legs that hate to stand.
            [too tired to care]
Tired from breathing.
Tired of my brain   dripping gasoline  -mercury smooth.
Tired of grabbing at thoughts that just slide off, down to my lungs.
And Tired     of coughing them out, sounding like that old, old man.
           [down by the liquor store? who can't hold his cigarettes?]

Dear Valued Customer,

Every day that I have to wake up and go to work I hate the idea of my job more and more. I hate working for a corporation. There is so much waste involved with the relative financial stability of large companies: small amounts of milk are poured down the drain every few minutes; trashcans have to be double bagged, and emptied when they are 2/3 full; all the boxes shipped to us involve ridiculous amounts of packing and packaging material (true story: we were once shipped a 2'x3'x1' box containing nothing but one large plastic bag and a roll of packing tape). I hate the blatant consumerism: the up-selling of mediocre food and the ridiculous prices attached to it; the thousands of cups that pass through our hands daily. I hate just saying "Yes," to people who force me to fill the (two) sugar shakers at least every hour. I hate the tone I take when I dislike a customer, but can't say anything. I especially hate getting up early to serve people who forget what a job like this is like.
The problem is - I really love doing my job. At least, when I'm actually being a barista. Things like perfect cappuccino milk - airy, but still velvety smooth and rich - thrill me so much that I can ignore the rest of it (at least until I have to get up the next morning).
So why then, do I get up every day, knowing that I'll come home in eight hours with sore feet and a backache, stinking of sour milk and strong coffee, burned, sticky and exhausted? Because I (speaking completely apart from my company and coworkers) want to make you the best cup of coffee that I possibly can. Which sounds, aloud, so...well, kiss-ass that you will actually never know this, because even if I told you, you wouldn't fully believe me. So, if I promise not to make you question how little I care about my menial job, will you occasionally pretend that I'm human?

Thanks! Have a nice day.

Recently seen in my room...