Change

Sitting in an office every weekday.
Moving bits of paper from his in-tray,
Making annotations for the out-tray
Which, every now and then, they take away.

Sitting in his ergonamic chair
Which he swivels now and then, in search of air
And a different view from his despair,
And wonders what the hell he's doing there.

From a window in the tower where he sits,
He sees the city's sparkle and its glitz,
And his thoughts are echoed every bit
By other souls, trapped in corporate pits.

They pay him every second Wednesday,
So he can survive until next payday,
And once a year he gets a holiday,
But all the while he's losing on his heyday.

His dreams are faraway and elsewhere,
Some place where people really care
About each other and what is fair
And, one day soon, he's going there.

He needs to take a cough and have a spit,
And refuse to take the line, 'This is it',
He needs to take a chance and bite the bit,
So, tomorrow, there's a gap where he did sit.

Craig Nelson 2008