I don’t work here

Sitting at the desk
I wait. People come and go,
throwing words at me.

‘Hello 324’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Sorry?’
‘Computer’ he says.

‘This is Google, Sir.
You need the library’s desk’
I point where to go.

Free Google support
in the library, we’re doomed.
They think I work here.

How many questions,
on books, computer, printer?
How few on Google!

They all come to me.
‘I can’t print.’ , ‘shelf H2D?’
I just point elsewhere.

Sometimes they shout, beg.
‘Can you please help me?’ they say.
I just point elsewhere.

Sometimes they tire me.
‘There’s no wifi. Fix it now!’
‘Tried asking nicely?’

‘Could you fix it, please?’
‘Good. I don’t work here. I can’t.’
He looks mad. I’m pleased.

‘Refill the printer!’
‘I don’t work here. Ask the staff.’
‘I need to print!’ ‘And?’

‘Where’s the computer?’
‘Sir…’ , ‘I don’t talk to women.’
I’m shocked. A sexist.

‘You poor, filthy bitch,
you can fuck off, you cow.’ he tells me.
‘No computer, then?’

People amaze me.
Rude, misinformed, they don’t think.
They demand, always.