You see me standing aloof, at this counter head alone
For me to be of service at the ready of one's command
Yes, I am angry with myself, like a riffing Ramone,
When dispensing change, in Customer Service Land.
At stake is my ego projected onto my uniformed self
The pressure feels like a back slab crushing my form
Hinting a collapse; a low ebb of self-esteem by stealth,
Where were my elders, whose wisdom could forewarn?
Too late, I'm well into adulthood and decline
My best may still go forth, as I hand over the money
And sometimes I force a smile, to then feel supine,
And accept that servitude is a comedy the least funny.
It's on with the show; new customers have arrived
A greeting sincere; I'm shell-shocked then revived.