Never taking the time to meet.
Barely acknowledging their existence,
To the ones they pass on the street.
Ignoring the faceless blurs,
Rushing to get nowhere faster.
Beating a clock only in their minds,
Rigid schedules their only Master.
Going forth to face the challenges,
Stuck inside their cubical arenas.
Nine o'clock sharp, let the games begin,
Between the three piece suited hyenas.
Papers come in, papers go out,
Papers to organize, papers to file.
Papers teetering on the edge of your desk,
Papers thrown away in a trash pile.
Where does the madness cease?
Mechanical servants to whom?
Imprisoned souls drifting aimlessly,
Existing within a concrete tomb..
Debbie Dodson
April 27, 2000
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