Why even bother, when all that they’ll do,
Is sit you down at the table and patronise you?
They have to be careful, as you’re not all too right in the head,
Of how they approach things and what needs to be said.
They’ll start with the bad news, and, swiftly straight after,
Engage with the good stuff and stifle a laughter,
And look at you straight and commend your commitment,
To this place, and the people within. You feel different.
They can’t put too much on you, in case things once again go sour,
And you sit and think “this has been such a long hour!”
But you’ve barely been then fifteen minutes! Still,
The more time you spend, the more you feel,
Like you’re tiny, you don’t matter, and inconvenient blip.
Five in eighteen, and you’re sick of this shit.