deepundergroundpoetry.com

French Fries

I'm walking through the factory, taking a look around
When suddenly I spot something spread all over the ground.
Before I know it, I'm surrounded by french fries to my left, and french fries to my right
A shovel is thrust into my hands, and soon I'm shoveling them with all my might.
It seems no matter how many fries I pick up, there's always more that keeps falling down
And as time continues to tick by, my face begins to set into an angry frown.
I scoop and I scoop, filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow
I'm starting to think I might go crazy, just like Captain Jack Sparrow.
Cold water and soft fries falling all around me, hot sweat dripping down my face
This scenario is like a clown trying to eat a soup sandwich; it's just one big fucking disgrace.
Finally I'm done, I've scooped up my last fry
I don't think there's a single part of me that's even half way dry.
Now comes the part where we have to just sit tight
The machine is still plugged up, which means we're in for a very long night.
They can't seem to fix it, no matter how many times each person tries
So I sit down, pull out my pen and paper, and begin to write about how much I hate shoveling these damn french fries.