The Cubicle
Do You Feel Like This At Work? |
Locked in a cubicle.
Barely alive.
He sits in the cage of the modern age,
Barely concealing claws of rage.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
He taps reports that nobody reads,
And parrots 'buzz phrases' that nobody needs.
The blandification of his oration
Leads to emotional alienation
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
His body is sagging from underuse.
His mind is lagging from substance abuse,
Must squeeze from his brain the last drop of juice.
He tries to break free, but his bite is too loose.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
He'll leave behind just dust and bones,
And mp3s, and mobile phones.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
Endless unpaid overtime,
Overlooked and undermined.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
Overstressed and underpaid.
Visions lost, and love delayed.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child:
Will he be let back into the wild?
There's no cage to keep him here.
The bars are made of loss and fear.
Thinking of freedom he had as a child,
He tips over the desk, and steps into the wild.
(c) Copyright 2014 Rebecca Woodhead
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