7:25
A Poem by Pete Marshall
The 7:25 was always late
as heels would click upon the path
that led past booths and open gates
and gents would fold their Telegraphs
and brollies sold a blue chip name
as brogues would splash in puddled rain
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through minds and rumbled past
The 7:25 was always late
as heels would rush and clatter by
in A line skirts with seams so straight
that caught a flash from anxious eyes
and some would take a last long drag
and girls would rummage through their bags
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through days and rumbled past
The 7:25 was always late
as heels would scuff and take the strain
for office clocks would never wait
and empty desks would cause complain
as woollen suits brought heavy sweats
whilst being late showed no respect
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through hopes and rumbled past
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Welcome to Saturday, my day at One Stop..this is a simple poem that explores the feeling of helplessness when you are trapped in a life that you cant escape..in this case a job...when you find you are living to work rather than working to live...have you ever been there?
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image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/canadagood/
