Day Job


Five o'clock in the morning and
I swear, that son-of-a-bitch
alarm clock is laughing at me.
I slap his laughter from his face
and roll-over. Please. Just five more minutes.
The clock recovers from the snooze button slap
and laughs again, triumphantly, last.
I twist my back to make it crack
scratch my ass and yawn.
My feet hit the cold, hard floor
and I grope my way into the shower.


“Sure there is traffic at five in the morning!”
I tell her, but she don't care.
“It's time to make the donuts, and yer late.”
and, “When are you gonna git a shave?”
That's all that's on her mind, I guess.
She don't speak no good English,
Jest good ol' American.
It slaps my ears like a drunken hand.
I'm sick of people stupider than me…
Pardon me, less intelligent than I am.
I'm sick of them giving me orders.


So, I start to roll out the doughnuts
and crullers and eclairs
I throw a tray into the oven
and start to roll some more.
I think of my latest song…
the riff and the progression
the way I used those arpeggios
like Johnny Mar, man, Just like the Smiths.
I'm rolling and thinking about this song
When suddenly it slaps me again.
“Look what you done!” and “Turn that off!”
So another batch is burnt.
I picture myself taking the tray
and smashing her brains out on the floor.
Fuck it, man…She'll see…
Some day I'll be famous, and she'll be making donuts.
That'll teach the bitch.


Gimme that! Get me those! I wanna cup of coffee!
How many times can I say,”Thank you!
Have a nice day!” before I punch someone out?


After work I'm headed for Mike's.
We're gonna jam tonight.
I'm humming the new song and kinda singing,
even though I play the guitar, some times I like to sing.
I'm walking along, and singing this song
When some guy in shorts like a Canadian flag jogs by.
He stops at the corner, turns, and says,
“Hey, man, don't quit your day job!”
I hope he gets hit by a truck.


© copyright tony baldwin