The Space To Breathe
Sat for hours on the road with the
daily symphony of honking and yelling
playing for free.
The drama of life around me,
someone scratching their nose,
that woman doing her lippy, why?
The duff, duff, duff, of house music,
young guy talking up a storm on handsfree,
wipers working to a squeak on the glass horizon.
The psychics at traffic report fail yet again.
One day they’ll surprise me!
I arrive with no enthusiasm
only regret for the codependency I have
for the bills that need me.
but I go down,
the lift bell tolls for me.
The walk of resignation,
my desk cold and grey,
with little hello about it.
The screen is not switched on,
but it reflects my blank frustration,
and everything grinding me down.
B wants a meeting,
miss serious wants file 10,
notice of staff development on Monday,
does any of it matter, really matter?
I just want to stop
and find space to breathe
and know myself again.
©Paul Vincent Cannon