The Mad Server's Lullaby

Here we sing a cheerful tune,
of aching joints and endless doom
Boosters filled with screaming brats,
cozy campers constantly chit and chat.
Guzzling gulpers bring much misery,
after glass, after glass upon glass of iced tea.
"My coffee is cold-" (Straight from the machine?!)
"Is    something    here free?" (Makes us want to scream!!!)
Hours of labor; no energy to spare,
and NO ten percent is NOT a fair share!
When you think it's over, it's not quite done yet.
There's cleaning, scrubbing and blood, work and sweat.
"Our feet are sore, and our hands are dry."
This is the mad server's lullaby.

Brink

A softness across my collarbone
like faint leaves and a hint of rain.
Hot pressure draped over my spine
and a thousand tiny fingers sweeping my core
to the brink of madness; my patience; my endurance -
and still further.