Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

frustration of a sub girl 

they don't see me as a person
just the robot
that will give them all their wants and needs
i'm so sick of needy, entitled people
thinking i owe them the world;
i don't owe anyone
anything
just like the world doesn't—
i wish they would get over themselves
treat me with some decency and
respect because 
i am not that bug they want to squash beneath
their boot,
and i am tired of sexism from these men
who seem to think my only place
is in serving them;
want to throw my hands in the air and tell them
to make their own damn food,
but bills don't pay 
themselves—
so i swallow my pride, my fury, my hurricanes
waiting for the perfect novel where i can 
destroy them without laying a finger
on them.





this job is no fairytale 

working here is not a fairytale
there's always something
left undone,
and there are no white knights here
to save the day;
always some calamity, always some issue
if not with the cappuccino machines it's the hot chocolate
or there's no coffee—
i used to love people,
but any more i just want them to leave me the hell
alone
because they're so needy and greedy and selfish
none of them seem to care
how much you suffer
as long as they get what they want;
just want to walk away from this place and never come back
maybe i can't now
but one day i will and when i do 
i'll have the last laugh
every customer who has treated me like hell will be part of the
stepping stone of my writing success—
their cruelty will not go unpunished.





i'm over it 

when people whine about stupid things
it takes all i have in me
not to roll my eyes,
and i get tired of saying "sorry" when i'm not
sorry and have nothing to apologize for;
this company wants me to be
fake,
and smile when i feel like everything's falling apart
never divulge my fury or the razor sharp
edge of my tongue when
customers are right;
i feel like i'm caught in some prison—
some say find a new job
it's not like i haven't looked and haven't tried
my options are limited in this 
ghost town,
and i just want to walk away from it all and never ever
come back;
one day i will when the bills are paid and i can 
afford to be proud,
and i'll hold my head up in the air snobbishly and tell the rudest
of customers that they can make their own damn 
sandwich.