A Days Work Poem by GRANT FRASER

I'm in here!
I'm in here!

Let me out,

they're off their heads,
I tell you,

let me go - free...

I want to fly away from here,

from all of them,

let me go!

words mottled with spittle,

Christ, I need your old man,

to sort it out,

sucking the blood and marrow
out of our souls,

They need to feed on trusty
people, like you and me,

and if they cant,

they'll warp you with addiction
and strain,

burrow right down into the brain,

until you need lawyers, and judges,
and security guards, then newspaper men,

so they can hang you,

and go home...

'Beautiful! '.