GLASS HOUSE

Day after day; hour by hour
As time crawls by
I stand; surrounded by glass
Poisoned by chemicals
Stained by sealants
Destroying my skin and clothes
I've nothing decent left to wear
Labouring for slave wages
While my boss' pockets line
With money of the folding kind.
I sweat for him
My dreams are nothing
As I graft for no thanks
No praise
And for what?
High above me there's an aircraft
Winging swiftly through clouded colourless skies
Were things different
But for cruel twists of fate
I would be in the cockpit
Instead of eeking a lowly existence
In this marine glass cesspit
Where my hands are never clean
Where I splinter, bleed and sweat
Hardened now, I need no antiseptic
My mind is on the girl
I left at the gate
Knowing she's in her own hell
Tonight she'll return; fed up and drained
Like me of her best
Those bastards we call bosses
Take the best of us
Leaving only ash-like dregs
We can give each other
I envy the freedom of that pilot above.
Numbed by pain
Fatigue deadens my limbs
Dims my eyes
All he does is grunt as I roll another cigarette
Down another beer - my survival kit
There is no ecstasy in this work
Scant satisfaction
It's a pointless existence from which
I can only long daily
For the moment of release
And thank God for Sundays
When at least I am free.
© Mel Dent 18 September 2003