L. B. Mek

busy: ‘Being’ hurled


alarms that exist to discombobulate

to disarm from first cockcrow and absquatulate

with what little of her sanity 

she could ill-afford to waste,


morning’s filled with petty aggravations

of discarded rights to personal space

in her personification, of a rat-in-race

insuring an arduous journey, to her grim destination 


filling hours of her life, while busily

filing those oh-so-precious files

as she gazes, in earnest jealousy 

at freedom’s teasing - flee


a rapid-meal respite, in step with those counted seconds 

endlessly, seeking distractions in mind-numbing conversations

on the brilliance of escapism

through pixel-screen dramatics,


stifling, another six-feet-deep, sigh 

as fingers hover - over, her chosen cage’s light-switch

dreading that return commute 

on those same gridlocked streets of bleak faces


carefully cultivated ambivalence

to her surrounding’s ambiance 

created by music of her prevalence, discarded 

by a buzzing ringtone’s – jarring, invasion


invitation to a gathering of her fellow graduates

of assembly-line degree curriculums, affording

an alternative end, to a played-out chorus evening

of microwave dinners, cocooned in isolation


at arrival, a cocktail or two - alone

as a predisposed conditioning requirement

to ensuing hours of plastered smiles, offering momentary relief

from that stifled gangrene: of corrosive, hollowness 



© L. B. Mek

December 2019