So This Is What Hell Is Like Poem by Kewayne Wadley

So This Is What Hell Is Like



Only at work, do I truly feel That I'm dying one second at a time. In an endless vault of overrated opinions. Time hardly seems to move.
Don't get me started on the boss.
I knew it would be hot, but this is ridiculous.
Who builds a warehouse with no windows or not enough let up doors. 
Not only that, but no raises. Not even a working air conditioner. The least I could ask for is a working fan.
The suggestion box is the least of our worries here. The same safety meeting, quater after quater.
It's always the same. Next month will be about fire prevention. How ironic.
The employee of the month is always the same.
Red face with big black horns. No pension, No retirement plan.
All he does is sit back and laugh, plotting his devious scheme.
A kid size cloak, with an odd sized pitchfork.
Not even our coffee is safe.
At least change the filter, or supply a decent amount of sugar.
He gets some kind of a sick thrill out of what ever misery he can provide.
Like who steals a spoon, honesty.
He hides all of the extension cords, and walks around naked.
This is truly the definition of hell. I've heard of stale jokes.
But everything has it's limit.
Having a television that only plays the same channel, over and over again.
I could understand public access but this, Everyday I question myself. Why am I here.
What use does the remote have.
What have I truly done to deserve this, I have honestly become the butt of a bad joke.
I hate to see him coming, most days I just stare with a blank expression.
He knows I don't like him, but still he rants about nothing.
Have I seen the latest football game, or have I seen this or that.
If I say yes he talks, If I say no he continues to talk.
I ask and I pled for him to stop, again he gets some kind of sick thrill.
The break room is a furnace.
No literally. The burns and scars have started to connect.
The general surgeon is a joke, every time you go have your wound looked at they are never there.
When you think about it,
It makes about as much sense as selling cigarettes with do not smoke printed on the side of the carton.
Ugggggh, I need a vacation. They don't pay me enough for this.
Maybe a profession in child care is in order

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Kewayne Wadley

Kewayne Wadley

Groton, Connecticutt
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