Another Poem Written on Company Time Jesus, the philosopher (I don't call him the Son of God, but that's another poem), once told his fans, "For the wages of sin is death." I sit here at my desk at work, a career paper pusher for Uncle Sam, thinking I'd much rather plunder, rape, murder, pillage, fuck, gamble and consume drugs 24-7-365 than work 8-to-5 for 40 years in a boring office, plus be a goody two shoes the whole time, and fucking die anyway. Robert W. Howington |