I get up at six every morning, rain or shine
Not because I want to but because I have to.
The world is still sleeping, and it is still dark in the room,
And it is difficult to open my eyes, tired from the night’s sleep.
I turn off the alarm and lay there with my eyes shut.
Just one more minute, please God, just another minute.
That last minute in bed is the shortest in my day,
But it is the time I enjoy the most.
Five days a week is the definition of a work day.
I go to the bathroom, pee, and brush my teeth.
The shower is next, and I wait patiently until the
Water is warms up enough to get under it and soak in it
Like a flower on the driest day.
I am rinsing the fatigue and the sleep of me
The new day has come.
I get out and get dressed; the kitchen stop next.

I brew my morning coffee next and walk outside to warm my car.
The engine roars with pain from the overnight hangover
Spitting out the clouds of fumes out of the exhaust and into the
Fresh morning air.
I sigh with relief as the twenty-years-old engine is still alive
And the car will take me to the place which feeds me.
I grab my stuff and walk out of the house, locking the door,
As my family is still sleeping upstairs.
With a mug of coffee in one hand and a laptop case in another,
I am ready for the day, whatever it brings.
Rolling out of the neighborhood while most of the neighbors
Are still at home, I listen to the latest morning news:
The state of the economy, the stock market forecast,
And the futures are down, and so am I
As the inflation is rising, as is my blood pressure,
The rate cuts are still far away, and the new IPOs are waiting.
The politics is still in deep shit, but this is how it’s always been.
Radio keeps me company along my way
And in about one hour and fifteen minutes,
I will be clocking in at work.

I see those people in their cars, sitting there in traffic,
Trying to get somewhere this morning.
I don’t see too many happy faces. Why would I?
We all are on our way to the places we hate, but this is how life works.
This is why we work all the time, even while sitting in traffic over the bridge,
We think about the day’s work, and there is nothing good to look forward to.

The office sounds busy, with all those people arriving at work,
Some people are chatty, laughing and smiling, and some are just
The ghosts of themselves. They know they have to be here,
But there is no desire, no inspiration, no life in it.
Some days at work are quiet, and I like it that way,
Some are busy and not my favorite, but still
For the next eight hours, I have to be here. I have to serve.
The next thing I know is the lunch hour.
The best time during the workday, any day.
The lunch room is packed as all of them are here to eat
And chat, and laugh and talk business, or whatever.
I am hungry too, but I’d prefer a quiet place with nobody around.
I eat my painful meal and watch all those people around me,
They, just like myself, have no other choice.
The afternoon hours are the longest, as always.
No matter what you do or don’t do, the time is moving too slowly.
At five, I pack without even thinking about any unfinished work
As I know, it will still be here tomorrow, waiting for me
To get done, to get finished. But I am finished with it now.
I am done for the day.
The parking lot looks like the fire drill in action,
With all those cars lined up at the gates waiting to get out.
Nobody wants to stay here any longer, and neither do I.
I join the evening traffic miserably, just like all of them, to get back home.
The home, that sacred place you spend your life to maintain and finance,
And yet you spend the least amount of time there.
I see the angst in those faces driving right beside me.
They always look like they’ve had enough.
They’re tired, confused, desperate, and lifeless.
Something has been eating their souls all day long
And they are free from all of that, as least until tomorrow.

I get back home one and a half hours later
And everything seems a bit better now.
I open the doors, and the kid runs towards me smiling,
He wants to play with me right away.
I look around the house as everything is a mess with
all those toys are scattered all around.
I know I’ll have to clean it up later; nobody else will do it.
My seven-month-pregnant wife is on the couch; she’s tired.
She was tired of being tired, and the weight of
The new child inside her tired her down.
We eat dinner together with some small talk,
The kid is getting anxious and wants to watch TV.
I am exhausted, but I finish my plate, and we play.
We play for the next two hours or so, and then we take a bath and
Then he goes to sleep with his mother, just like he’s used to.
I stay a while to clean up all the mess in the dishes and remove the trash.
I pay my bills, check my emails, and prepare for another day.
I go to bed with a book in my hands, and I sleep for the next five hours
Like they are everything I have.
The man is down, and it’s time to check out for the day.
Tomorrow will be yet another one, and so it goes, and so it goes
Until we are alive, the battle continues, and so it does.