Treadmill in a Box
Papers pile up on every surface.
Duplicate, triplicate and quadruplicate, too.
Punch some holes and fill some binders.
I copy, sort and file for later.
I stretch my legs and walk outside
For a minute of midday sunshine.
Gaze out at the concrete desert,
The freeway and the office park.
An office park is not a park.
The concrete’s no substitute for trees.
The grinding decibels of the freeway
Hurt my head as I go back inside.
Outside the sun shines in the west.
Soon I will join it as it sets.
Squeeze in an hour of afternoon light
Before night hides it from me once more.
Despite the darkness, I feel release.
I forget about the memos and meetings.
For a few hours my time is my own
And I’m free from the treadmill in a box.
Have you ever felt the hopelessness of a dead-end job? How did you cope? Let me know in the comments.