Poetry sucks

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late

knowing of course that my years of experience

would account for my greatness of attitude

versus the shortage of wit and rancor.

Want to be my muse Ben?  Want to try my tropes?

Or is it just the young hula hoopers and vloggers now?

We are all Instagram, we must all digress

in this disgusting language of the trying so hard to be important,

trying so hard to change what cannot be changed crew.

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late,

changed nothing, quit early and walked out of the meeting.

Nothing matters because nothing changes.

Which bed will we die in or will it be on a roadside

between a worn out tire and a biodegradable bag?