I no longer work in a restaurant
but the fat lady woke me up
said time to get ready I was
in an attic. I got dressed appeared
in side door of this old
emplyment remodeled. I'm sick
of eating wooden almonds they
go in they go out they go in they go
out. And I'm an elf now, up and down
the stairs, wacking my head on the
ceiling of this elvish staircase.
Take orders, get the food this is
living. I'm sweating and it's only
when the toilet appears filled
with shit, long garden hosed sized
shit do I laugh, and it's out loud
filling the room, down the hall
tumbling to Bangladesh, dead
in the mailbox, spilt onto the stairs.