My Friend Sisyphus

Hours he worked, lonely, weathered, within his cage,

as minutes crawled and digits flashed.

The putrid odor of aftershave and cheap breath mints clung to him as he typed.

Click. Click. Click.

The keys rattled out their overplayed song for eternity.

He could not stop. He had no choice. 

So the stench lingured, the walls grew closer, and the twisted tune clicked on.

But he pushed his boulder.

And he endured.