Work Week

Routine is the shrill beep of an alarm,

The sound of hangers pushed and the bathroom door closed.

It’s the phrase “Good Morning,” and “How’d you sleep?”

The mumbled replies that follow.

It’s the face in the mirror,

The hands that study every flaw.

It’s the commune to responsibility,

The same classes as the day before.

It’s the name written on the top of paper,

The yawn soon after lunch.

It’s the house with the same people,

The same rooms and rules.

Routine is where boredom reigns.