Your black button-up’s already wrinkled,
from those dreadful day & night shifts.
Your white apron’s covered with stains of beer, wine and whiskey.
The soles of your shoes are dirty from the floor.
Your hair is greasy & sweaty from the hard work,
your hair smells like smoke and you don’t smell the shampoo anymore, (you washed your hair with before).
The loud music makes your ears ringing and before you know it; your eardrums are bleeding.
You’re staring hopelessly at the broken glass lying on those horrible bar tables.
You’re having nightmares every night about millions of drunken faces.
You’re asking yourself if there’s a chance you can have 4 days off,
But life’s not fair ’cause you’re still here and barely at home.
Song tip: “Damage” by Rachel Wammack
Ilse Dekker Poetry 
This is so depressing! Being a Bartender is a privilege on the west coast, not torture! I hope it gets better for you, it can be so rewarding if you see it as an opportunity rather than a dead end.
Actually, I have to tell you. I’m not a bartender. I work with elderly 🌝. I wrote this poem trying to understand the life of a bartender that doesn’t like his/her job. I mostly write poetry trying to understand different situations in life.
gotcha. thanks for your post! i enjoyed it none-the-less