Door, Floors & Windows

it’s 6am, I find myself funnelled 

through the intricate tunnel systems 

beneath the hive, I’m surrounded 

by worker bees with no wings,

it appears they’ve lost their ability 

to “buzz” and sing,

left with no desire to pollinate

they now stagnate,

huddling tightly together 

overdosing on new technologies 

that I’m certain will lead 

to their demise

breeding a population 

of houseflies,

6:45am, I relinquish the fresh air 

as mile long escalators

transport me to ground level,

the angles increase

the higher I travel,

briefcase cuddling chess pieces 

carefully make their moves

along Fenchurch Street,

I had the urge to 

“trip the light fantastic”

until I saw the gigantic 

mothership I was appointed

to clean, the automatic doors

opened like steal theatre curtains

I’m clearly the opening act

as I was led to the back 

of the annex,

the Persian Prince

who choreographs the show

sat on his wooden throne,

his compound eyes

analyse my unsuitable attire,

“we must all look the same here”

I was led down sanitised halls

handed a set blue overalls

that came in short on the leg,

I was passed cleaning materials 

and told to polish

all the doors, 

floors 

and 

windows

“we all get paid the same here”

well 

below 

minimum 

wage with 

no overtime,

and I’m expected 

to fall in line 

for this?

you wish!