Payment

Affected by the mood in which I found myself when writing a commissioned poem, I penned this musing over the grind of work-life monotony (this is also on my page at Poems123: see http://poems123.com/2010/11/07/payment/)

Payment

A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake!’

I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,

Pained anticipation saw it all:

Foretold, another filthy day.

I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground

Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out

The puddles; irksome on the roof –

The drumming drops of bitter glee

Were hounding out a hapless me –

Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.

I left the house

to go to work

to earn a crust

without a perk

then on to bust

another straining vessel.

Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:

‘Why a drought of happy times?

Auspicious climes were

Old and fusty books

Atop a dusty shelf

Inside a morgue-of-a-room,

Somewhere in a long-forgotten library

Down a lane without a way.’

I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010