Drunk, afraid, cold— I hold steady for you,
And warm tendies you look to provide;
I am raptured by the sight
Of my number, 420, 666
Flashing on the too tall screen,
Julia and Aleka and Dorian working
To provide what I need most,
What my heart desires,
The satisfaction of a warm, warm tendie.
Crowds of bodies gather
Pouring over one another in absent succession
But still you stand,
Still you watch,
Sentinel at the gates of fried food,
Warm drink, successions of demand
Endless supply
You deserve the world.
You deserve our love.
And still, some of these bodies,
Mingling fools and half-still oppressors
Would look to you not as kind providers
Sacrificing your own night,
Giving your own labor,
But as passive servants.
To them I say
Stop that before I steal your food.
Appreciate your Sayles people
For they have provided you the tendie,
And too often they recieve
No thanks.