In the land where the customer is God
time paddles by you with broken oars
and there is never anytime for thought.
You must clean the spots off the polka-dots
and scrub lunch away with soapy sores
in the land where the customer is God.
Each god’s grace is your wage, any is a lot.
You ask yourself, “Why less and not more?”
but there is never anytime time for thought.
“Want a refill?” “Anything I forgot?”
“Yes sir.” “No sir.” Your vernacular
in the land where the customer is God.
Here you tell yourself to smile, laugh, and nod.
Here your dreams implore but reality retorts
for there is never anytime for thought.
Year’s die, but you stay, just wrinkle and rot
and dream of the day you’ll walk out that door
but in the land where the customer is God
there is never anytime for thought.