Another Day

Pristine, French tip nails

A simple yet dignified business dress, iron pressed

Flaming red hair turned up in a bun

Six inch heels click on tile

 

I make my way to the office

Clutch these documents to my chest

A beep, and the door dings open

 

The files are stacked high on my desk

I sign my signature, one after the other

The pile never stops growing

My hand and wrist are aching

 

I sweep a loose curl out of my face

My arms feel weak

My hand trembles

The signature becomes sloppy

I pull out an icepack from the freezer

 

I sigh

Exasperated, it’s just another day in the office            

I’m tired

I ache

I want to go home

This poem is about: 
Our world

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