Office Traffic

Your friends say that you’re so lucky to be working
but your mind is as cold as the air conditioning
There’s no difference in the way that memos are typed everyday
and now your flirt with the clerk you despised the first day

You shake the ciggie shake while waiting for tea break
(where’s comfort in nicotine burning to an ending?)
Your boss responds to your efforts with “It’s never enough”
and lunch is a round of gossip with coke and health fluff

Then it’s the ‘phone talking noise and the copier breaking
before the clock strikes home time whilst the boss shakes his head,
“You’ve got to change the bulletin before it can be read”

Freedom is a traffic jam,
a car crash for another office worker on her way home.