I get in about seven after eight,
Drop off my notebook, grab my coffee cup
And fill it full of wakefulness--then up
The stairs for morning meetings on the slate.
Ordinarily it's hurry up and wait;
Meaningless small talk with department heads.
Finally the tech guy unravels the threads
And gets the presentation up. That's great.
There was a king named Sisyphus who fell
Afoul the gods--the reasons are obscure--
And for his mortal sins must now endure
Eternal futile toil on hills in Hell.
My boss tells me to think outside the box,
But all I see out there are other rocks.
1 comment:
Another excellent sonnet of cubicle despair. I really like the breezy rhythm accentuating the trivialities but closing to something serious.
Sisyphus enters shockingly, and we know the poem means business.
Fine use of the cliche in the penultimate line, and great response in the last line, with the rhyme emphasizing the contrast.
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