The Boss

Hair neatly parted
The sharpest suit.
Taking his place
For the commute…
Daily he grinds
Watching his back.
His back to the wall
He dare not slack.
At ten past nine
His daily march.
Parades round the office
Dry and parched.
Conditioning air
False lighting beams.
His waiting game
Puts them in teams.
At ten past twelve
A lunchtime snack.
Just have a quick
And rushed Big Mac.
Afternoon gone
Evening arrives.
Now home from work
How he survives.
Hangover gone
The night before.
He texts her to say
He finished at four.
His heart beats fast
Pain with the shakes.
Dead on the floor
Before dawn breaks.

He should have stopped
He should have rested.
He lived too fast
Time he invested…

Better slow down
And better say ‘No!’
The Boss that runs through
Dies sudden and slow.