THE WORST JOB I COULD EVER DO. By Bradford Middleton

If i did ever get that job
That job that so many,
Including myself, would
Dread for me to get it
Surely wouldn’t last long.

Working in a bar, i never
Could.  The shots they
Pour are way too small
And i’d always insist, no
Way you can’t have it
Like that, pouring in a
Large double-double.

One for you, one for me
Within three months the
Place would be bankrupt
And my liver would need
Replacing.

Bradford Middleton was born in south-east London during the summer of 1971 and won his first poetry prize at the age of nine.  He then gave up writing poems for nearly twenty-five years and it wasn't until he landed in Brighton, knowing no one and having no money, that he began again.  Ten years later and he's been lucky enough to have had a few chapbooks published including a new one from Analog Submission Press entitled 'Flying through this Life like a Bottle Battling Gravity', his debut from Crisis Chronicles Press (Ohio, USA) and his second effort for Holy & Intoxicated Press (Hastings, UK).  He has read around the UK at various bars, venues and festivals and is always keen to get out and read to new crowds.  His poetry has also been or will be published shortly in the Chiron Review, Zygote in my Coffee, Section 8, Razur Cuts, Paper & Ink, Grandma Moses 'Poet to Notice', Empty Mirror, Midnight Lane Gallery, Bareback Lit and is a Contributing Poet over at the wonderful Mad Swirl.  If you like what you've read go send a friend request on facebook to bradfordmiddleton1.