Poor Me

What a pity, what a shame
The customer's must be to blame
Why do they ask for what they want?
When my name's written on the front

How can I rotate my wares?
When clearly no-one ever cares
I spend my nights with my accounts
And ordering correct amounts

If I have a little left
My duty is to see it shift
The housewife isn't bright enough
To know how I rotate my stuff

My trade is not what it could be
Why do they always pick on me?
Can they not see I'm in distress?
Could they care? Never less

Perhaps the time is coming near
For considering a new career
Vocation's not eluded me
A Traffic Warden I will be!!!!

© Cazzie Damson 2000