a Poem by Raquel Swann


There is a window behind my cubicle

with a pretty view

of a vast world with limitless oppotunities


are the sounds of us drones typing

documents and strategies

for those who sought out such opportunites

and siezed them through the vines of family trees

or hard work, does it matter?


Time is a snail treking hundreds of yards

in search of water, in this place

A ray of sunlight peaks in through the blinds

and I wonder how many of these reports

and web searches I conduct are in vain


If I sit here long enough

will I become a permanant fixture?

Five o’clock no longer excites me

Nor does eight, or nine, or ten

by eleven I’m sleeping dreaming

of brighter days, when I can listen

to waves crash upon shores

or roaring engines high above the clouds


I will not succumb to this life

of birthday pleasentries and

false cakes purchased so that

others can think they care about us


Computer histories and phone calls

tracked and examined, meant to

rate our performance as drones

Do me a favor and kill me…

No, better yet – show me you truly love me

and appreciate me

the only way I can reach my “unlimited potential”

is to fire me

It would be my honor