We both win.

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Slipping into the tiny outfit of

Skin clinging black

My integrity gets stuffed into a bag

to be in purgatory until after clock out

Another night, 8 more hours, another hundred bucks

Biting my tongue, chewing your pompous questions, digesting what’s left of my pride.

I don’t want to talk about where I’m from, the weather, why I’m here

I wouldn’t want to mislead you into thinking I see anything other than

my rent, my cell phone bill, my groceries… when I look into your eyes

My shallow smile, thank you’s of sweet syrup, empty promises to remember anything you just said…

Don’t get it twisted,

that soggy dollar bill you strained to leave me

is the only reason I’m here.

Some nights are better than others

On bad nights I’m deafened by you passively screaming:

To serve you is to be beneath you.

Your self-importance swells every time you realize

my fate lies in that little dotted line

What a playground for the patronizing.

So you smugly sip your mojito and leave me nothing….just because you can…

and I daydream about going to your job to force you to work for free.

On good nights I soothe myself with the comforting certainty:

I’m of superior intelligence. and talent.

And you think it sucks to be me?

But only the brawn of the jaded can muscle enough strength to rise above.

I still care too much to ignore.

Another night, 8 hours gone, another hundred bucks.

Step back into myself

at least until the same time tomorrow….