I long since came to a weary pact
With my ambition and self-esteem –
I gave them both the sack,
And they in turn have promised not to dream.
And with that, I put on my tie,
Polished my shoes, and buttoned my coat,
And dived headlong with barely a cry
Into the passion-snuffer’s throat.
I take-on full responsibility –
I knowingly rejected thrills
For mind-numbing futility
To let me eat and pay the bills –
I do the work with competence,
And nothing else – not even gripes.
It’s dangerous to drop your fence –
Don’t fall for pride, just sit and type…
I know I’m being used, each day,
I have to shrug, it’s just the norm.
There’s plenty far worse off, they say,
Be thankful that you’re in the warm.
And yet…can it be…?
That out there, somewhere, running free,
Some folks have a job they love ?
A job that’s always something new
And makes a diff’rence what they do,
And pays them more-than-well enough –
But ah, those kinds of job are precious few,
Not for the likes of me.
There are only so many fun jobs to go round,
They’re thin on the ground,
They’ve all been filled, or handed-down,
Father-to-son, the lucky tykes –
And none of them have a clue.
Most of the jobs are the sort that nobody likes,
But most of us do.
I have my hobbies, have my friends,
I make the best of tedium,
And live for the moment, live for the weekends –
And tell myself that something else will come…
But what must it be like, though,
To wake up with a smile ?
To do a job that’s worth-the-while ?
I guess I’ll never know…
I considered titling this poem 9 – ∞, but the two figures don’t look like they belongs in the same font.