I don’t got time
to listen to your life, dude.
I got a whole lotta drinks to pour.

Your life sucks,
no doubt, but we ain’t got
enough hands behind the bar.

They keep cutting us
down. It’s all we can do
to make it through the shift.

I work two jobs
’cause one won’t do it
for hourly and tips.

So if I seem rude,
I’m just too tired to hear.
Plus, you and I ain’t buds.

You need to whine
about your high-class problems?
Tell it to the suds.

***

Day 24’s prompt from Poetic Asides was to write a poem “Tell it to the                .”
It was supposed to be the title, but seemed to fit as a last line better in this case.