The World Is Your Motel

I sit with my bouquet plucking petals torturously
I have no mercy
I set the bar real high then come up just shy
Then pound my desk, with the utmost frustration
And so it runs! Just enough! It’s fine! I keep a good attitude!
But I’ll never be Elvis I guess. Just one big, moist bag of garbage
Missed the low hum that connects things
A dumpy woman in a track suit
It’s all the same to me, man
I can!: Send mail, cook food
And complete other simple tasks, if required
My resumé, while less than impressive, is consistent
I’m at the mercy of machines
Out of context, that could sound like a real problem
But it’s only in pictures