Tick·tock, Tick·tock
There goes our lives clock
Sand grains down flock
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Six – out of bed bolt
Eight – into the train hop
Nine – Salt-mine punch clock
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Slave-driver barks task
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
Last review correction must
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Masters cutting deep to bone
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
Slave must cling on to the job
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Clench your teeth to get the dough
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
Numb the pain with smoke of pot
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Eight PM you punch the clock
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
Nine – you crawl home on all four
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Years go by you punch the clock
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
And the purpose of it all?
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
◆
Last sand grains just slithered by
Tick·tock, Tick·tock
You die
98 days and I retire. I love your poem
Thank you for your comment. Enjoy your retirement in any way you wish.