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Farewell to Sears

(This little ditty was written in 1993 at the closing of Sears Outlet Store #1440. I served at that time as the clerk in charge of “mark outs”, thereby responsible for every broken piece of merchandise that must be eliminated. This is the earliest poem I wrote still in my possession. I have changed nothing from the original first and only draft.)

With the blood of a hundred camels, I wash my fetid hands of this corner of the world.
Dripping puss and raining sweat with arthritic twists are they now knurled.
A thousand fretting troubles thou may juggle in thy abandoned hands,
But my ears are deaf, my eyes drip blood and I am off for other lands.
Cry your bleating, worried moans of lonely isolation.
No longer will I weep and swoon before your angry instigation.
For year after horrid, weighted year and days as dark as the grave,
This wretched slave has stood this post: abused, forlorn, a grief sodden knave.
No more!
I doth flee with accursed freedom, released with no place of worth to go.
Broken flesh to wander aimlessly craving the eternal beatings and so…
Say thy final words to me: “Begone o’ senseless pungent fool,
We have no dire need for thee and when thou art gone no eyes will pool.”

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
My god, my god, how the words have changed me and the words... ah they change indeed. I thought I would share this when I found it on a piece of cardboard in the garage. I had posted it over my station to tell them they couldn't put their crap there anymore.
Editing stage: 

Comments

Nothing hurts more than feeling a slave like in/to a post .
When one doesn't like what he/ she is doing for living it gives the feeling of being slaughtered thousands of times a day.
Such amazing words to express self grieves and yet the last line gave me a smile (((a wide one)))
Thanks for sharing sir!

❤❤❤❤❤❤

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

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and you thought i was mean? I did ten years in customer service/retail enviornment. Most of it spent working for JC PENNEY in the fine jewelry department. I started as associate and eventually became department supervisor. We were trapped behind a locked gate, couldn't leave unless another supervisor relieved you (even if you were an associate) for fear someone might try to rob the place. You had to count the diamonds three times a day and if the count was off, you couldn't leave until it was fixed or the store manager called it a day. They would call you at your ask demanding answers, again, even as an associate. It was very enslaving and while I was good at my job, I was glad to be rid of it. I went on to a series of low level managerial positions in other establishments and found them just as confining. I am glad to be done with retail and customer service. I am taking note of your use of punctuation and how well it fits in. Powerful description and details...I am making mental notes....

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

It's garbage, but funny. It was mostly written as a joke. When we were shutting down the store my department was no longer viable. Everything was for sale at full price and then discount of up to ninety percent was taken at register. This was my way of saying leave me alone.
The reason I posted it was as comparison. I had not begun my adventure of exploring poetry. I was clueless. I simply wrote something that "sounded" interesting.
Twenty years later I am a very different poet and ONLY because of research into the artform. If a bubble head like me can teach himself to write worth a darn how much grander will you ladies produce with just a little education into form and function.
I found it while cleaning the garage. It's AMAZING the junk I store.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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author comment

Sounds like my apartment. When my fiance and I moved in together into our apartment, we had to combine two lives into one living space. It is amazing the junk we both collected over the years. Unfortunately, his is still in boxes (almost 2 years later) as he refuses to part with any of it. It was a very funny poem and still grabbed my attention, even if it was your earliest attempts at writing. Form and function..two words not usually associated with me...

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

I have three dependent children....and only worked such lousy hours with my first. I do not miss retail

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

It is simply good to see you. This is silly.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

author comment

I thought that thou shalt not lack ye old world job satisfaction.
Be happy that the riches are yours to watch flow by.
It is puzzling this old mind about a word I did find.
In this piece of yours written so freely, what did you mean a puss or just Pus we should see rotflmao???
"Dripping puss and raining sweat"
Now look what you have done LOL Yours Ian.T
PS This piece from a young one well done I see where the old language come from now, you haven't changed...

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

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