I Work Best

This poem is an interesting one because it’s almost prophetic, another example of life imitating art. It’s about my love for efficiency, and how I work better when I’m working under my own steam than I do when people keep telling me what to do. Enjoy!

 

Everyone

has their own

way of working.

Me,

I work best

with dual screens

and a TV,

a windows PC

that’s keen to please

and easy to use,

and always

a cheeky little smoke

every hour or so.

I work best

with no one else

around.

I work best

when I don’t lose

ten hours a week

on public transport;

I can read,

but I can’t write a novel

or a web page.

I work best

when I choose

the work –

too many bosses

play their centrebacks

between the goalposts

and then they move them

as the other team

prepares to take

a penalty.

It’s fine

I guess

I mean

I need

a salary.

I’d just like

to pay it

myself.

I’d like to transition;

I’d like to no longer

be a writer

with a full-time job,

I’d like to have

a full-time job

as a writer,

on my own terms.

I work best

when I work

for myself.

Therein lies

the problem.