By James Strauss


I would be seen as running hard and fast,
If I wasn’t running last.
They tell me the key is to slow down,
Holding out a bag of sand to pound.


If you want help go somewhere far,
To some small town with a bar.
You’re here to be a piece of fresh meat,
Someone needed they can defeat.


How to fight back but not to kill,
Using guile more than skill.
Making the workplace truly smell,
Until those around think they’re in hell.


To become alone can feel alive,
Where lonely is a means to survive.
It’s all ferocious competition,
Live, eat, and pay in hard repetition.


I’m here now breathing slow sighs,
Waiting to see who lives or dies.
The music slowing in its soft blare,
Waiting silently to grab me a chair.