It was the craving for simple
detachment, which lead
us to the utopia of selected
work hours, and the absence
of a contract, despite our
constant protests.
Cramped together during days
of heat, which crushed our
patience like clouds releasing
a downpour of anvils,
each impact driving home
just how bad this decision really was.
This bleak tale became entangled
in our lines, as we fished for freedom,
our swagger a mere trick.
This usual set up now staggering
on broken ankles, falling at each given
hurdle, our faces merged with soil.
The last of the day’s targets,
are set with way more accuracy
than our household budgets,
our very names auctioned
to the lowest bidder, freedom
now at the behest of our back-handed
landlord who now always dangles
the unfulfilled promise of eviction.
