We’re always missing a party
When we look up at the moon
There is trial and tribulation
On Friday nights alone
Weekends off,
Our bodies can’t sit still
We cannot taste food
Because others of us will
On vacation
We may have missed the boat
We may think
It’s because that’s all she wrote
Escaping to somewhere
There are only a few hours
Sitting at desks
We hope we’re admired
Then, after a caffeined day,
We go home tired
I don’t think this song
Can give you lottery numbers
I don’t know what ever will
I can only think myself
Into the power of my will
Complaints are music
In the coffee stained
Corners of an angry walled-in structure
In groggy break room culture
Why can’t work be play, I say!?
If we learned to play
Who would run the show?
It may not get better
Than this present moment
It’s what we are working for
So the others can own it
Take our lives off the menu tray!
Living like this may be only today
If the working wheel hits ya,
Then get off
There are other ways,
There are other ways
Say you have a hobby
And it turns into a gig–
Looking at the working world
Just as it is.
Playing the drums for the grand shindig
Laugh all the way to the bank
With your ideal
Don’t give up
It’s not your last thing
Do you love something?
Cmon, do you really love something?
Break free of a dirty business deal
Then weekends are where it starts.
A show, some friends,
And a fancy meal.
And someplace to start.
Empathy is Poetry 