Nine To Five

 

Dreams of gold

compressed into a time clock,

soul sold for a parking space,

to live in a box

taped, stapled and paper clipped,

ever telling yourself

tomorrow the prosperity genie

will come with a rope,

but between pay days

the dreams grow lean

left to rely upon the company pantry

for the ocean of nutrition

then swimming in that dry noodle mix

and using cheap caffeine to keep away.

 

It keeps the smiles percolated

so you don’t have to scream.