Thursday, 16 April 2015

14/30! Jokesandsighs! 15/30! Nu Diner Life!

A note from my manager that in the two days
without phone access I've been fired and
replaced by rookies or robots doesn't
surprise me much.

I crossed ts, dotted is, tacked posts
in necessary places and crossreferenced
plans in the hope of a getaway but these
are no match for wind, treachery, or just
bad luck.

This is a joke he's made before, and my
response is quick and jaunty, the parry,
but still, I start compiling a list of spots
to turn in the resume I start updating,
take my leftovers

15/30! Nu Diner Life!

Any new taxidermy must be approved:
first by the manager, then the health board.

Dinner party punk and post-washboard, pre-
beerbelly stomache in brief shirtlifts.

No sweat in the cosmos.
No beard in the food.

A planetary refrain from too-loud laughter,
save the blue corner table rattling all glass.

The waterfall in the center of the room-- unplanned.
What do we do about that?

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