The Beer Factory

I got an interview at the Beer Factory.
The manager was made of glass
and his office was a refrigerator.
He had a liver that poked through
his cotton shirt and a gut
the size of a half barrel.
He said, “How much do you drink?”
I said, “A lot.” Then I showed him.

Six months later, and I’m completely bored.
Everyone stinks like booze and pukes a lot.
The woman next to me wears too much lipstick
and the man at the front desk keeps throwing
darts at my chest and hitting my balls with a pool cue.
For lunch I have sex with my boss
but she keeps forgetting my name
and I’m always too drunk to come.

Yesterday, driving home from work,
I ran over my own toe.