Fast Food Hell

Everyday I am forced to sell,
Fast food in this fast food hell,
Greasy burgers with ingredients unknown,
I’m behind the grimy counter, all alone.
Little kids with whiny voices,
Line up for the kid meal choices,
Soccer moms with mini vans,
Men with ‘blackberries, “Look no hands! ”
Everyone from everywhere,
They all come to jeer and stare,
At I, the unfortunate employee,
Trapped in burger hell, and never free.

poem by Amity Willows
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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