Bad day at the office 3



Here’s a little poem I wrote about the office where I work, at UK Cash Cowboys. From what I hear, a lot of people feel this way about their jobs. It’s a sad indictment of the things we need to do, just to stay clinging to the surface of this planet for a few decades, in the world capitalism has built for us. What a lousy fist humans have made of life. We think we’re the smartest species but sometimes I think a bug would have a happier existence than most of us. How dumb is that? It’s just a short poem. Nothing really. A doodle. It’s called 5.30pm.




I do a little fist pump inside

Another day chalked off

On the cell wall

Wishing my life away

Longing for the day I retire

So I don’t have to work

In shitholes like this

Each day feels like a prison sentence

Weekends I get out on parole

Then Mondays banged up again


There’s some good people

Mostly the other cons I work with

But the warders

Who run this joint

Arrogant, high-handed bunch

Of corporate tossers

You wouldn’t piss on them

If they were on fire



To UK Cash Cowboys plc


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