by HARLEM SALLE

Created on: February 24, 2010

Its eleven am, I'm here again

And another poem written, a created necessity

Our weekly meeting, tedious to say

The understatement of having to endure

Talks about the same topic

Over and over, a circle spins

People over talking, pointless, annoying

That frustrating ‘why am I here realization'

Laughs arise for no reason

Uncomfortable sheep, just fitting in

Fifty minutes have passed, back to the same point

You know that moment when you just want to run

Its now, this moment, out that door

Be gone from this weekly ritual, the pointless

The mundane, the weekly meeting presents

I sit here wondering, how it all came to be

Its eleven fifty nine now, one minute to go

Twelve o'clock, I will be free

To walk and leave this hour behind

And forget this absolute, ridiculous

And utterly boring and always tedious

Office meeting

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