Toll Collector's Plaint

I knew that I would never be
An astrophysicist,
But still, I thought I'd never see
My life reduced to this.

Recipient of monies thrown
From windows of cars driven
Directly past my big fat arse
Atop this stool I'm given.

My uniform: unflattering,
All bunched around my loins –
No wonder people swear at me
And pay with foreign coins.

My demeanour: dour and sullen,
Both my mood and face are grey,
If you catch my piggy little eye,
I'll likely look away.

Upon a sea of deep despair,
I barely keep afloat,
To watch me drown just pay me
With a fifty-dollar note.

Just like this electronic arm
I move in but one plane,
Just like this auto-sensor,
If you pass me, I'll complain.

Just like this cramped and lonely booth
My life has little range,
And just like my thankless customers
I probably need change.