It begins almost immediately
As
warm bodies filter halls
Which
last night were void of
All
human conveyance. Of
Trite
conversations of yesterday's weather,
Of
ball scores and dinner plans
Yet
to be finalized.
Now
it begins all over again,
The
wishing, the longing to
Be
somewhere else.
The
nagging complaints about
Time
better spent somewhere,
Anywhere
else but this vast
Ho
hum dump.
Time
for a break; cut away from the wheel
Which
incessantly spins
As
the day drags its feet.
Must
walk away for a moment or two
Or
else throw up hands
In
a sign of defeat.
Trucking
along through
The
muck and the mire,
Biding
time just like one of the flock.
Secretly
waiting for transformation,
The
magic which happens
At
five o'clock.
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