Dish Hands

A poem for anyone who works a dead end job, has too much negative vibe.

Wide eyed nights
Singing the blues
Pen and paper nights
Sleepless waiting
For something to write
Four good friends
They never talk
Smoke in the air
With Malt Liquor breath
Sad man
Sad songs
Sad poems
It all just ticks
Never talks
Twenty two years
I have learned absolutely
Nothing
Broken hearts
Empty cans
Too much smoke
Today everyone is a stranger
I've got Mother Teresa's hands
And eyes like a great white shark