Monday Mourning



Faces grim and sallow skin

We sit as weathered mannequins

Squashed upon this shabby train

To get to work and back again.


Gathered in collective grief

From Monday mourning’s disbelief

At how the weekend flew so fast

To leave us dismayed and downcast.


A weary troupe in shades of grey

On dreary journeys every day

With silence as the only sound

For misery-mute we are job-bound.


Race through tunnels black as night

Where awkward bodies pressed up tight

Are hot and stifled in the car

Like cattle for the abattoir.


Like robots programmed in repeat

Through rain and snow and hail and sleet

We suffer this communal pain

To get to work and back again.


Emma H, age 26, 21/12/2016


An appropriately gloomy poem for the start of the working week! This is one of my favourite recently-penned poems, I hope you enjoy. The photograph is my own, taken during a horrendous downpour in the Lake District.

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