I don't want to be the manager

            With slicked back hair and a shit-eating smile

                        That practically cries 'boy do I have a car for you!'

I don't want to sell.

I don't want to lie.

I don't want to be one more mini-exec

            With a nose as brown as the Birkenstocks he wears

                        To match his polo shirts on the Caribbean cruise.

I don't want to hide behind figures.

I don't want to kiss asses.

I don't want to be an embittered teacher

            Shouting at generations of students too hormonal

                        To do sums, or care if Napoleon came before Hitler.

I don't want to live by rote.

I don't want to be a clone.

What position allows for quality,

and respects hard work—done well and carefully

            Where is the place for me?