The Cubicle, a Poem

If you’ve ever worked in a cubicle – READ THIS

Crow On The Wire

The cubicle gets smaller over the years
as I decorate it like a pseudo home
with my children’s pictures, fake flowers
and cute little trinkets.

The air quality makes me sneeze
and aggravates my allergies,
passing one virus to another
between unassuming co-workers.

My boredom bounces off room dividers
and makes my swivel chair squeak.
The cubicle gets smaller over the years
while my desktop gets larger
with added responsibilities.

Life moves far too fast
and before I know it,
my kids are all grown.
I’m in the thirty-year club
and receive a gold-plated watch
for all my miseries.

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