The Comfortable Rut


The Comfortable Rut

This poem is part of the “Wage Slave” anthology
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You don’t hate your job, it pays the bills,protecting you from loss, and unforeseen ills,

Your boss, your co-workers, they are nice enough,
provided you do the right things and say the right stuff.

There is a promotion looming for you just up ahead,
great, provided the extra hours don’t leave you dead.

Morning traffic is of course a terrible frustration,
even in your dream car you get no satisfaction.

A coffee, a doughnut and takeaways each day,
your doctor starts warning you to find a better way.

You find your job easy, you know the system inside and out,
you get some respect, you know what you’re talking about.

This job is not your calling, in fact it’s a bit of a bore,
how you got into the industry, you’re not quite sure.

Now you have a car, a mortgage and increasingly expensive taste,
you can’t afford to cut down though, your partner won’t allow chaste.

Your bucket list is incomplete, in fact it’s all but forgotten,
your dreams have gone stale, your passions are now rotten.

Yet the people are nice enough and the pay is great,
you know it would be foolish to quit and rely on fate.

Besides you have no other skills, you’re no longer fit or good looking,
how could you get a new job, or even just an interview booking?

This is your life and it is never going to change,
arriving safely at your grave is what you’ll arrange.

This poem is part of the “Wage Slave” anthology

Authors note: The more we earn, the more we feel we need to earn. Unless we check our spending, and focus only on what we value ‘earning enough’ will always be a shifting goal. We will be too afraid to make any changes, and will ultimately die living and working in a comfortable rut.