I work
Myself
To death
I throw away my weekends (that would have been spent relaxing with friends)
Toiling in front of a deep fryer and candy rack
Trying to finance a once in a lifetime opportunity

Bratty, snotty kids come to the window demanding food (and entertainment)
Entitled kids-who never as so much say “please” or “thank you”

All through the night I pray for parental (or Divine) intervention

They wave money in my face as if I were a prostitute(cheap w**re) 
Demanding more then their prepubescent stomachs can hold
Wasting away money from a never ending stock of twenties, tens, fives, (and ones)

I silently wish that money would burn

I blame their behavior on everything from Common Core to lazy parents who expect me to be their
Nurse
Jester
Chef
and supplier

Surely when its time for closing, five (yes, five!) bottles of broken yellow Gatorade spill to the floor
(Armed with nothing but paper towels)
And I have to deal with one ketchup jug disaster (splattered all over my leg like blood)

They still pester, still demand more, still ask for (more)

I walk onto the empty field
(Sticky), sweaty, silent