On Being in Boxes

Hard walled and
White
ON GUARD against
errant beams of light,
my cubicle is
half my home
but at night.

Memo to Self,
in Memorandum
a small death everyday
to be slave in return for pay
work, ALL work
and no play.

and all the dull boys
Jacks on their hills
work and work to pay the bills
to buy all the right toys
hope to play with the big boys.
and I sit quiet
in a box
I make no noise.

'shhhhhhhhhh'
my machines
hum and whisper
they say 'don't worry sister...
you won't go far'.

poem by Virginie Guillemette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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