POEM: The Short End of The Shtick

The earth quaked
Beneath the CEO
As he re-torted
It’s no bodies fault
In a sense
Coming upon
The prophets of owed
Raking over
That thin lyin’
Between purveyor and consumer
I’m just
Doing my
And it’s knot
My
You are
Welcome
To the short end
Of that shtick

This poem was inspired by a specific instance of the ever- marginal customer service amidst corporate .  There is an entire of bad customer service that lies between “It’s not my ” and “I’m just doing my .”  There is an entire of bad customer service that lies between callous executives’ inhumane policies of profit over people and wage slaves who have made learned an uninspiring form.  Our can only slip away if we abdicate and response-ability.  As much as the sucks at any given moment, this is an invitation for to step into such a vacuum.  Even as the invitation is addressed as “Dear Occupant,” merely serving as a notice that your short end of the stick is being pared back or that the light at the end of the tunnel is being turned off, this would better serve as a pretext for than learned .  Part of humans’ Jōb description is a test of regarding devilish abets inhumanity.  There in lies an affirmative response-ability to fix ballsy dehumanization that metes on our knees.  Countability de-mans it.  In choiring mines want to no, excuses for whining a bout their purported eunuch situations, as if hitting the Hi C in loo of Kool-Aid™ was somehow passable.  If this peers as sum bizarro , wrest assured that the job you may have may have nothing too due with this.  Other wise, just, do your job.

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