death of a factotum

it started when I was sixteen,
so maybe you can chalk it up
to inexperience
of youth,
but either way
I dropped out of high school
and decided to get a full-time job:
in a way, a forever job,
just not exactly:
in fact, about 7 or 8 months.
that was more than enough time
to realize I wouldn’t be able
to live out another 40 years
handling plastic, handling plastic, handling plastic
that I was somehow smarter;
psychology seemed almost right,
so I tried that.
it was a fast quit
with no withdrawl
(prohibition never looked so good)
from two polite racists, a boss
I didn’t care for one way or another,
another boss who never showered
and gave me a hard time
for reading even if I didn’t have any work,
and this one creepy old alcoholic
who looked big and rotten enough
to hang his wife with a telephone cord
for bringing home the wrong color
label of jim beam.
it is a difficult task working with people
when you put an emphasis on how significant
your low opinion of interest in their lives
is
and the simple fact that
with your own accidental existence
you’re supporting them.
that wasn’t exactly how I phrased it
when I left,
but like I said,
I was young.

and I swore off the habit for so long
but ended up working in this place in another state
with the same sort of shit in a different mask,
just not exactly:
there are different forms of torture
all over the world.
so I learned a new rotten
truth
sans benefits of school
and dropped that one too
and I’m still young

enough.