Not a Job

Six o’clock:

Millions of eyelids unfold

Burning from the light of dawn.

Coffee is poured

Ready to scorch each throat

With the bitterness of another day.

Bodies’ ache and whine

Head hung low

Thoughts scramble

Clinging to any scrap of hope.

Thunder of shuffling feet

Masks the silence in the air

Dragging lowly bodies

Arriving at their Jobs.

Six o’clock:

My eyes break open

Welcoming each ray of light.

Tea is drank

Body awake

Thoughts aligned.

I walk with a skip

Pulling not dragging

Arriving at not my job

But my Life.