“Free verse humorous poem about working”

They say work is noble  
(they say lots of things—most suspicious),  
so each morning, before coffee,  
I approach my noble computer  
with all the enthusiasm  
of a houseplant meeting Monday.

Emails breed like dust bunnies—  
the “Reply All” judging my pajamas,  
while Zoom calls sprout,  
row on row,  
little heads nodding in pixelated unison,  
syncopated only by awkward mute button fumbles.

Lunch is a sacred ritual:  
the desk, scrambled crumbs,  
the eternal existential question—  
“Should I microwave this leftover mystery,  
embrace sandwich monotony,  
or stare out the window  
imagining being a squirrel?”

At 2 P.M., my ambition sags  
like that one plant nobody waters,  
and I daydream about  
being a professional napping consultant,  
or a cloud—light, soft,  
with no inbox at all.

Three more memos, two spreadsheets,  
and an urgent chat:  
“Did you see the hilarious cat?”  
I did. I see it every day.  
It, too, seems to be working from home,  
suffering, behind its glassy feline eyes.

But every so often  
my calendar gives mercy—  
a mysterious meeting canceled,  
a task evaporated,  
the sun clambering through my window  
like an overexcited intern,  
reminding me  
some days,  
work can be kind of great  
(as long as it’s five o’clock somewhere).

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