While Commuting By Car
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Routine kills. Routine drills a large hole Through your better intentions, Builds a ring road round Your brain, shunts your Schedule into the slow Lane, snaps your wiper Blades, splinters your Mirrors and submerges Your resentment in Hallucinogenic rain. You should complain. But routine binds you, Entwines your entrails In self-serving detail, Smothers your agony In weak tea, cackles At the dregs dripping From your arse and Exiles you, limp and Mumbling to the Nearest commuter Bypass. You seek refuge in Dates and times, Celebrate landmarks, Hire a room and nuzzle At your approved trophies, Wash away your whimpering With canapés and wine swill. Routinely you forget that Routine kills you. At first it merely aggravates. But when you see no end The anger finally takes you And you scream daily at The world and youth, Proclaiming that your Parched and broken face Is their fate too. But there's not a single soul That even wonders if your Words are false or true. Only your own blistered Ears are listening. Routine kills. We punctuate our lives With the occasional thrill, But forever there he stands, Timetable in hand, Sniggering as he Turns the wheel.
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Poem Study Notes:This poem was written in around 2002, after a bad day in the office and lengthy delays on the M4. This was definitely written as catharsis. Before writing this poem the poet was considering abandoning his day job (not the poetry, but the office job which actually earns him money), but after writing this poem he managed to put up with another 12 years before finally leaving and swapping his commute by car for a commute by train ...
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