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screenshot-2017-01-25-09-55-29Getting to work. Commenting. Work is fulfilling for some and dehumanising for others. Either way for vast numbers, and rising, getting there and getting back is nothing short of a life draining hell.

Sensory deprivation
It’s Monday morning, so plunge me in the tank again.
Goodbye to fun and reality, now switch on the inane.
The mirror in the bath room sucks light in, it’s insane.
The trudge to the station, the green mile, once again.
Repeated mental torture, can you sense my distain.
A period of limited sensory upload, always the same.
It is sucking the life out of me, now, am I being plain.
Five days taming the raging lion, of stroking the mane.
Obvious in commuters’ eyes, we’re all playing the game.
Only work, everyone does it, just me feeling the pain?

(Loot)


More people are writing and thinking about work based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to editor@organisationalpoetry.com

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