My first job at eighteen years old is this,
Looking in the parking lot for loose carts
Freed from their row, not one am I to miss,
Nothing too grand which my title imparts,
“Front-end Loader” at the hardware chain store,
For four whole months until college begins.
Today my boss for me has a new chore,
Bathroom duty to cleanse shopper’s foul sins.
Wretched! Oh so evil Satan’s soil,
Fetid Sheol is where I have been sent,
Why must I in such dregs have to toil
Without so much as a window or vent?
Nevertheless, I do as I am told,
Telling myself I’ll laugh at this when old.