Thursday, February 09, 2006

a poem ..untitled

My significant other is a poet. This is a poem about work. Not about the kind that we like to do and that we willingly stay late for, but the repetitious monotonous type most people have to endure;

Won’t you come help us and work for a bit?
We’re building a mound and digging a pit.

We’re digging a pit and building a mound
We’re digging a pit down into the ground

Is there a chance that the mound it will fall?
Then fill up the hole and thus bury us all?

The boss knows the answer,
and he’s on the ball.

Will the mound fall?
I don’t know I don’t care.
in time they will move it from here
unto there.

The work is important
the wages are fair
so put on these new boots
and cut off all your hair.

If you won’t help us
you’re lazy and mean
we’ll throw you in prison and
dress you in green

If you get buried
insurance will pay
for your family’s loss
so it’s really OK

One thousand years later
your bones will be found
under ten tons of dirt
in a hole in the ground.

by Dan Mage , 1996


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