A Poem for those stuck at home for the summer.

Here’s one to all of you out there

With your professional clothes and washed hair

Who even though the sun is high and blaring

You’re stuck in a cubicle staring.

Because mum and dad decided if you came home

Left the colleges and weren’t off to Rome

It was necessary for you to get a job

And you got this one through your uncle rob.

When you started you thought hey the pay is great.

It’s alright if every once in awhile I have to stay late.

I don’t have to stand outside

Or ask anyone if they want a side of fries.

But the $9.50 an hour doesn’t pay for your freedom.

It pays for the education you’re ‘needing’.

The health coverage doesn’t pay for the repares

That need done to your soul at the end of hawking your wares.

Yes you sit in an office with a right squishy chair

And you answer the phone and help who is there.

But you never quite learned how to help yourself.

Only know that money in a jar up on the shelf

Will help pay for something someday that you’ll want.

Something like a home or a garden or a fence or maybe a yacht.

But for now while your friends are sweating and hating the man.

And you’re stuck in an office with no hint of a tan.

Just working your office job all cooshy

You can’t help but feel your free will and spirit go mooshy.

I mean you once didn’t shower

Made a few bucks an hour

But that was okay

Cause at the end of the day

You could head home and not think

Dye your hair in the kitchen sink

Hang out with your friends

Loved your days off till no end.

But Now you are an Adult

With a job and a 401k to consult.

It’s okay man I know you how you feel.

How this office park is less than surreal.

And you’re long hair is tyed back

And you wish you weren’t wearing these slacks

But that’s the price we pay to live our lives free

That’s right, us, you and me.

We’ve got to save up these slips of paper

Until we can escape and live free of here.

Out on the road or on the wind.

Somewhere that doesn’t depend

On us having headsets or a customer to tend.

Yes someday after the fireworks and hot dogs.

When the sun has gone down and is replaced by snow and fog

We’ll escape from these cubicles of death

And finally stop holding our breath.