It’s always the same
The rituals of weekend
Passing time on Sunday pastimes
Peeling potatoes
Washing the car
Men lined up
Compelled by regimental tradition
Ready to do their duty
To keep the appearances of spotless lives
Little boxes
Living in little boxes
Ticking little boxes
Their cars are never dirty
They never go anywhere
Busy doing nothing
Watching TV
Moaning about the drama of their ordinary lives
Thinking about Sunday
And buying wax to polish their cars
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What could be the cure for this condition I wonder.... Great write Nik! !