Nine to Five

Steel grates on steel

Feet shuffle

A shrill whistle pierces

The smog-choked horizon

We line up in our

Mass grave

Twenty feet below

The pavement

Shoulder to shoulder

We push and shove

Squeeze into tiny

Coffins

Lights flicker

Paranoid eyes wander

Over everyone

Every stranger a potential

Murderer

So we watch everything but

See nothing

Feign interest in

Magazines and briefcases

The silent march into

Gas-chambered offices

Where our souls are strip-searched

To ensure compliance

A nine to five sentence

We serve in silence save

Watercooler conversations

As easily forgotten as

Our once rebellious spirits

And this is what it's like

She said

To grow old and die

Without ever lifting a finger

Ever letting your gaze linger

Too long on the

Horizon

Finally five o' clock and

We're marching back to the station

Riding in our tiny cars

Everyone fearfully eyeing

Everyone

Push our way to the sliding doors

Through turnstiles and finally

The ground floor

Where we make way back to

The caskets we call home

And lay our weary heads down

And stay 'til the next day comes and

We can do it all again.