Constraints

They said no stress ball for me today.
It makes no sense for them to pay
Me, who works at their sterile grayscale desks and chilly metal files;
We diligent ants spoil the company’s flat flavor, if, all the while,
We usher in companions, who, though voiceless, are still infantile:
They scream flagrantly from inner dismay.
They said no chewing gum for me now.
It makes no sense for them to allow
Me, who ceaselessly fixes the mistakes
Our hurried interns endlessly make
When they fill out the company’s database,
To chew the stuff.  They must think I’m a cow.

They should sharpen the saws because the saws are now dull.
My coworkers and I share the grey eyes of the bull.
They tell us, “Focus on your work; you will feel less.”
And, “There’s plenty of work to go around,” they attest,
But my work is the gushing font of my stress.
And we can only do so much when our heads are full.
Now nobody is allowed to keep their cathartic things,
So, when it’s time to leave, the clock doesn’t tick; it rings,
Seeming to me that heaven could hear it peal
As we all clamor outside and rush home to heal.
One sees there are fewer of us.  Now, let’s be real:
Few stay when the remedy is purged before the stings.

Don’t be ashamed of how you deal
With negative emotions you feel.
We should want and hope to be happy all the time,
Not expect it.
So if an inauspicious feeling knocks, that’s fine;
Don’t reject it.