Ode to a George Foreman Grill

Again the salty season of salty wretches 

Pale faced

Sun descending 

Arms stretching 

Sell me a job 

With hours of persuading 

Laughing inside of a LED screen 

The backlights blazing 

Swindle fringe into one solid dread 

Fuck it’s only half passed six and my eyes are off to bed 

It’s been less than two hours spent writing and 

Clicking while my attentionsfighting 

To pull me from the pretence that I’m hereby employable.

The optimism drives become quickly edible 

Now I’ve left the screen 

And my head feels hours grilled thrilled spent

Under George formans monied beam