Ode To The Job.

(Poetry written out of boredom. Primarily written to help pass the time at work.)
Salmon colored chair, how uncomfortable you are. In every position I have sat and still you cause a pain in my lower back.
Blue background on my desktop screen how very boring you may seem. But imagination helps me to see a window that over looks the deep blue sea.
Chlostrophobic I have never felt, but here in this lonesome cubicle I feel nothing else. Back to the microwave nose to the north, I count down the seconds until I can walk out that door.
Deep blue radio that sits apon the desk, plays the music that I detest. Over and over the same horrid songs. But sometimes I find myself painfully singing along. As I listen I hope and pray that the radio will turn up missing some day.
So many people I call in one day pulling information in every way. Sneaky I am, unaware they are. I feel bad some times but others I feel not. Satisfaction arrives when I push the button F9.
Judging by the way I have described this place, you may think it is horrible in almost every way. But out of boredome this poem has become. I like this job believe it or not.

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