FIVE O'CLOCK

The last five minutes counted in seconds,
feeling the adrenaline starting to flow,
insides a current of electricity
waiting to escape and be free,
no smiling while lusting at idea
of seeing your boss
with a knife in his throat.

Dreaming of the company’s policies
suddenly being revoked
so you don’t have to scream
over their idiocy,
wishing that coworker
would get therapy
and stop talking to his stapler
as if it was a lover.

Hoping the recovering alcoholic
won’t come by again to apologize
for her behavior
you can’t even remember she committed.

Then comes the moment of pardon,
a dash to the parking lot,
praying the workaholic bean counter
won’t try to stop you
to ask one of his stupid insignificant questions
that you never have the answer for anyway.

Finally reaching the car,
starting the engine,
pulling out of driveway,

BOOYAH!

Survived stupid land again.