Floating On The Breeze Poem by John Weber

Started a job today
well below the pay
needed to keep my sway.

Most grotesque
throttling a desk.

In the distance
rolls with persistence
tracks guiding subsistence

floating on the Breeze
like some dormant disease.

John Tesh knows what’s best
for my bird and our nest,
whenever I get stressed

he spits out sound advice
from a script most concise

while Fast Car plays
at nine on most days
to lock me in a glaze.

“Life could always be worse, ”
creeps my mind like a hearse.

Got my two year raise
along with brash praise,
my best news in days.

With a pat on the back
I chug back on that track.

That common spot on the dial
suppresses all those hostile
emotions piling up bile,

but Teshy’s got advice on that
within his prerecorded chat

before playing We Belong,
must be his ten o’clock song
I try to hum along.

I try to forget why
monotony makes me sigh.

To the sound of chanting,
I was presented a plaque granting
praise to my decade of enchanting.

They honor my dedication
with a cheesy wall decoration.

In the distance plays
the calm, consoling rays
while I grieve for my lost days.