It’s less than not much offered here
just another heart smeared throbbing
bleeding into a cold steel background
it’s a protest against emotion
as a reminder that we seem to forget:
we're called wage SLAVES for a reason.
These hard thoughts press insistent that
we waste drive and determination
on success at any cost, when
the reward consists of little more than
"Good Job" and a Gold Star
That's when old workers' eyes go square,
and the contrivance of false praise
gets properly interpreted
as "Goodbye, Get out, Good Riddance".
Yet, rancor fades as boredom prevails.
The entry doors of Superstores
are lined with square-eyed ghosts
reduced to a small sense of purpose
still addicted to pats on the back
and gold stars beside their names