Work is tangled between disordered sheets of paper covering a desk
Trapped in envelopes and receipts the drugery
Takes time to unravel, the benefits illusory
Piles of time seated in one place stuck firmly to slavery grotesque
Punching an invisible time clock, the hours drain slowly as we recheck
The mission we set out to accomplish which has dissolved into tomfoolery
Does each worker, in a separate way, discover workplace dysfunction peculiarly?
Our ancestors toiled in primitive times, without electicity, running water, or tech
What is the goal of work today as we compare it to history?
We live to work, not work to live, and thus rob ourselves of mystery
Ride the poetry train all month in April to enjoy the work of poets everywhere. Find #NaPoWriMo participants here. I encourage you to find new work you like.