Five o'clock
By JohnniBoy
Five o'clock, the whistle screams, our shakels drop. Like inbred livestock we shuffle out. Observing mannerisms; carefully planned. Language; plastic,routine. Executed with dull finesse. Blunt rods falling on my ears. Our ties could so easily be nooses. If only a proper platform found, to sway back and forth side to side. Tongue, swollen and ajar Not very proffesional at all. Written March 14th, 2002 © on Mar 14 2002 06:43 AM PST 0 • 9
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"Five o'clock,..."