My last boss said I should lay down dough
For some kneepads; I said maybe
I should lawyer up, everybody’s
Such a comedian. But that’s spilt milk,
Nobody’s crying. And I don’t need
No kneepads anyway. I don’t complain.
Not that I’m a faultfinder
Miss, oh no. You wouldn’t guess how
I strip you with my eyes, neither.
So equitable you are, Elizabeth,
Missus, Miss, Mistress,
Bitch: what’ll I call you
When I get you where I will?
Occupy this, strike that, turn
That other cheek this way
So my hand lands even-like.
These are lowbrow Marxist mindgames,
Sure. Even so, I’d say you’re not quite
Cut out for the restaurant business.
You know, I could split you like fruit, spit-
Swap with you, spank you. You won’t cry ‘no.’
Just mop you up-- and wring you out!
On the floor, behind the register,
Broom closet, mail room, back seat
Delivery. Christ, I sound like a horny
Hippie midwife. I gotta try and stay
Polite, uptight, on time, ready
On cue. But good impressions
Precede worse. Lizzy, I’m not through.
We’re both biding time till
I order up your better talents. Hot
Fudge banana-splits, just whatever
Shit I put on your menu, no?
Yeah baby, your hands are slippy.
‘N’other clean-up, I got it covered.
Spilt milk. You’ll have to try my tea-
Cup. Got it from my momma.
Glazed pearl. Nothing bridal. Good for daily
Use. I’ll pour. Don’t worry ‘bout
Your pinky. Just curl it in too.
Yeah, you’re a little teapot Eliza.
I’ll just tip you over. Doll parts
And parties every day. Drink up.
You’re just gonna love my new job.