The game

Five days a week I play a game
I put on slacks and a collared shirt
I stride purposefully to a large building
I brandish a keycard to show my belongingness
Elevator banks with soft bells
Ticking off the floors of other players
I walk down gray-carpeted halls
Staring at gray-painted walls
I sit in my gray fabric cube
Surrounded by the soft clicks of keyboard and mice
The muted ringing of phones
It is an elaborate game of paper and cords
And blinking screens

Earlier in the game
I moved quickly around the board
Advancing from square to square
Winning a free spin – promotion!
But lately the game has become tiresome
In fact the game is slowly killing me
I no longer care if I lose or win
Or even if the game ceases to exist
I am ready to leap off the board
Scatter the pieces on the floor like a truculent child
Who screams and pounds the table with her fists
And says: I want out the game sucks

I will invent my own game
And make my own rules
And choose the goddess of happiness
Over the god of money
He can find someone else to play his game
It will not be difficult
They are lined up to play – eager, young
Reaching already for their keycards
I wish them well

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