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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
our way to the end of the work day is through
laughter &
as long as we must endure this system’s bull*****absurdity,
where we work for crumbs thrown to us by the 1% of the rich
tossing them to us from the table,
we must get through it
(at the same time resisting it within, constantly looking for ways to 
dismantle it)---
if still employed, still churning like a gear rumbling with the rest in 
this poorly oiled machine
grinding
grinding
stalling
spitting up debris &
slowing down to a dragging pace behind the rising powers amidst us,
the “now” still rears its ugly head,
subtracted right down to the passing minutes,
the watching of the clock,
the passing hours,
the watching of the clock &
the final release when the routine ends &
we’re allowed an interval to breathe
from the clock to the car
from the clock to the subway train
from the clock on the walk home
from the clock onto the bus & the bus to the walk & the walk to the
subway---
regardless of your own personal pilgrimage,
you’re not alone in this.

what can be done during the day,
during the actual “doing” of the work,
is the telling of jokes, making each other crack up---
remember that funny thing you saw on television the other day?
telling a coworker or coworkers can liven things up &
invigorate conversation &
communication, which though constantly being thwarted against by the
company,
make for a more human workplace existence,
no?

sharing detailed descriptions of our lives outside the
machine,
speaking about our upcoming exciting events or
just making fun of the boss man,
all can free us from the tasks at hand &
make us remember that there are things this machine cannot take away.

though our experiences might not seem comparable,
these are all ways to embrace the passing time
creating a better life from within
despite the supervisors buzzing like flies around our heads
despite the pressing deadlines
despite the unreasonable or downright impossible quotas,
the solidarity that comes from separating the “authority” 
from the actual working people of this empire
is what gives us strength,
for certainly there have always been more of us than
them &
until the day when the tables turn,
letting anyone silence you in order to maximize efficiency,
letting anyone stress you our more than you are already
over the insignificant nature of those “issues” which the man would 
like you to “address”---
from your attire 
to the time you come back from a lunch break,
this kind of subjection of the self
will get us nowhere but dead, quicker,
when the stress kicks in.
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