What is work but disservice;
To your heart, your peers,
Your endless tears,
Why’d you take the job,
Why didn’t you?
Why do you shrug and nod
While gloom fills the little spaces in your heart?
They hate your boss,
Your boss likes you —
The work piles on
But you feel like you’ve got nothing done,
you stress about how the flat hierarchy
Is flatly sloping upwards;
Bickering about why someone is doing their job right;
Or why they’re doing more than they’re paid,
But if you stop you’re asked to step in;
An office where you feel like you’re in grade school again,
What is office but a wreck?
No wonder everyone quits
Or dreams of retirement;
How distasteful it is for the morrow
Where yet again I clock in.
©️Jana Pelzom 2023
“I do not dream of labour”
