Take #3 Poem by Patti Masterman

The alarm goes off.
You wake up, dress, turn on the coffee, walk the dog,
Pull on the boots, grab the paper as you're going out.
Go do the freeway hustle, barely staying alive;
Walk in the door, with a sigh of relief-
But someone's pissed off Ex-something or other is there, with a sub-machine gun-
He mows down everyone on Level One, spraying the walls with
Cut-

The alarm goes off.
You wake up half-dressed, nuke some water for instant cafe,
Leave the dog asleep, pull on some running shoes
(Screw the paper) ,
Go do the freeway hustle (some things never change)
Barely staying alive,
You walk in the door, almost sighing- though you're not so sure
You're actually happy to be here this morning-
Sure enough, doors open suddenly, and men in white lab coats
Run in, flashing official badges hidden under their lapels-
And inject everyone with something, herding them into vans.
You feel yourself slipping away, wondering what was in the
Cut-

You throw the alarm against the wall. It won't break, keeps buzzing away.
You wonder vaguely who's making the unbreakable clocks now.
You slept in your clothes, now you pull on your recently bought
Steel-toed hiking boots,
Leash the new Doberman and take him with you,
Go do the freeway hustle,
He destroys the paper in the car as you're driving.
Walk in the door, he hikes his leg on the industrial height fireproof ashtray.
Doorman says with a frown, sorry sir, dogs are not allowed on the-
You pull out your Ruger, with a slanted smile yourself,
And let him have it. He lets out an audible sigh as he's falling.
Then you keep on walking like nothing happened at all.
You just had to get into the swing of things.