(in an office cubicle)

by Cari Oleskewicz

Paper, paper, everywhere.
I've not much time to think.
Piles here and piles there.
It makes me want to drink.

Priorities and long, long lists,
I wonder where it started.
If a fire were to catch,
I'd not be broken-hearted.

It takes my life and robs my soul.
I'd rather be on a boat.
Remembering these days of old
when possessions made me gloat.

I fantasize of leaving this.
Who needs the stress, the drama.
We're told we do, just to live
the Dream Americana.

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