Poetry: The Night Shift
This is a poem in hateful memory of all the slightly posh teachers at primary school who thought they could climb another rung up the social ladder by pronouncing the word poem as “poym”. It doesn’t make you sound posh, it makes you sound like an arsehole with a speech impediment. Stop it.
Anyway, this is a poem that I haven’t written yet and which I am going to bash out off the cuff in a minute, about working a night shift, which is what I’m doing.
The Night Shift
By Christopher J. Marshall
Here I sit in the office
Dark it is outside
How I long to feel
Sunbeams warm and wide.
As I sit I wonder
What the point may be
For I would not be sat here
If I were a tree.
Soon I will climb the steps
Reach another floor
I will work for one full hour
Behind a wooden door.
Some may think it crazy
Some may think it crude
But I work these hours for money
So I can buy some food.
8 comments April 23rd, 2007