By Stuart Whomsley
Getting up too early to commute to be in a place
it turned out you did not have to be in after all.
Doors with swipe cards, security cameras, open plan, monitors, fake wood desks, other people’s conversations,
the sound of a telephone down the corridor that rings
and rings and rings.
Small kitchen, coffee, tea, a jar for money, a fridge with milk, sandwiches in Tupperware boxes.
The house of correction
meaningless tasks.
Keyboards full of crumbs, post its, biros, pads, stapler,
hole puncher.
Hope punctured.
Time drained from lives through spread sheets of death.
The way we used to live. Turns out the good old days were
a bit shit.
I live in Newark on Trent in Nottinghamshire and am a member of DIY poets in Nottingham.
I am currently working from home and using the saved commute time to get fit and to write poetry.
Interesting juxtaposition of hole puncture and hope punctured. The nature of work has changed so much this year, and likely permanently. Thanks, Stuart!
Great metaphor: ‘Keyboards full of crumbs’. Thank you
Stuart thanks – of course, more beautiful dark-light and weep-laugh poetry from you, and thanks also for showing me this wonderful place. Indeed, Samantha, such a great line: ‘spread sheets of death’. All fabulous. Stuart you make heaven from hell. Magical. Love and thanks, Alan
I love this – so very like my own experience. Like you I don’t miss the commute but do miss the contact. Hope you’re fit and writing!
love this! such a great line ‘spread sheets of death’ considering the Excel data loss recently
Thank you