Poem -

Hotdog

Hotdog

Work turns clocks into blades, the long hand
Cutting twelve fifty times this week.
A dog in a kennel with the family on vacation,
Because anytime but now is time off.
Tired, as opposed to exhausted,
The way you used to feel after spending all day
Doing that thing you used to do.
“Fulfilled.”  Do you feel fulfilled?
I'm asking the ones who work somewhere
Where nobody talks to you, unless you're new
And want to know when break time is --
The time you check your tire pressure,
Because you’re about to drive another four hours
And you don’t want to break down --
Or when you need another task
Because you're “done” with your last one,
As opposed to “finished”, the way you feel
When you quit your job, or caring.
“Done,” like a hotdog, as they say.
Cooked.

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