Hapless?

Some say I have no luck But all they really do is cluck How can one have any hap When mostly all they do is nap I’m hapless to the nth degree Cause I think most when I pee I’m not one for self-aggrandisement I’ve no need for advertisement I cannot even say that I’ve sought Out a single future related thought And I cannot muster points to action To relieve these self-made sanctions So those who think I’m unlucky Should instead think I am sucky For allowing my life to pass by Without even attempting to try

The Waitron Argument

They call me a waitron,

A serving automaton,

For my “level fixed voice”

When taking a customer’s choice.

They say I act as a slave,

Another regular wave;

That I inspired the word robot ,

That my service ain’t got a lot.

I say I carry out my training

With a plomb.

I say I serve with many a

Linguistic bomb.

I believe I employ many tones

According to each new phone,

So each person I encounter

Is treated with especial wonder.

This I will always maintain

While thinking my refrain:

For our own inner universe

Is seen by others in reverse.

Tweet Repeat 78

Koshed by a food cloche I laid half stunned, 
knowing only I'd not won that fight, try as I might. 

But an angry chef packs quite a heft,
and within reach he's more than enough to defeat 
all comers, especially such misnomers.

or extended: 

Koshed by a food cloche I laid half stunned 
knowing only I'd not won that fight, try as I might.
  
But an angry chef packs quite a heft, 
and within reach he's more than enough to defeat 
all comers, especially such misnomers

as us lowly waiters, only fit to carry plates, take orders 
from all front and back Lorders, never to talk back,
that's how I ended up taking this flack 
from the cook with the Devil's look, 
the Devil's rage, maybe Devil's sage...


All I know is I came a clobber 
when accused of being a robber 
on that dark and stormy night 
when my boss showed his might. 

Tweet Repeat 77

He sought to banish all those who famish, 
those who burn to make their victims squirm, 
who pull nails to make them tell tales, 
who startle, half drown, shock and pound. 

He sought to do this but met only their fists.

Tweet Repeat 76

Lambaste!
Create a sickening paste.
Bombast! 
Batter his mongrel face!

Teach him not to squeal what he can't repeal,
Then send him out as waste.

Tweet Repeat 75

Corridors, cloisters and classrooms became my lot,
Those and the broom were what I got
In the draw that decided things,
Like for whom we would be an underling.

Tweet Repeat 74

Beyond the watershed our people fled, over the streams they teemed. 

Until in safety they found land across the North Sea's hand.