Arise, go to work,
Best shoes, clean shirt.
No boots, nice tie.
No tools, learned to lie.
Sales, sales for sale’s sake.
Why be a builder when you can be a snake?
Office, coffee, dirty looks and sneaks,
Hide from bosses between the breaks.
The weekly crush, looking back, taking measure.
Silent heartbreak from a dismissive gesture.
Nothing lost and nothing gained.
Gimme a shovel, this work’s a pain.
Work? What work? Sitting typing?
Listening to clients always griping.
It’s my fault, they say, for telling the wrong lies.
A P45 and no goodbyes.
I lied to them but never to you,
What? You’re leaving me? Bully for you.
I’ll stay here, make lots of cash.
There’s nothing left but a square of hash.
Work? You work?
What’s that? Tell me!
At least I have my own brand of poetry.