in London town people live in boxes
they work in boxes and
their jobs are boxes
in the morning they eat breakfast from a box
then they go to work in a box
sometimes the boxes are broken or they stick together
once the boxes were blown up
but they put them back together again
at work they sit on a box
and work at a box in front
of a box inside a box in a box
in a box
for lunch they order boxes
of food and eat them in front
of their boxes
sometimes they spill crumbs on
their boxes
during the day they have meetings in boxes with people who work
in other boxes
on the way home they stop
at the nearest box
to drink stuff that comes in
boxes but is not served in boxes
after this their path home
is not so box-like
but they find their way back to
the boxes they live in and stumble inside
sometimes they talk to people through
little boxes they hold against their ears
but usually they stare at boxes while
eating food that comes in boxes
and is heated in boxes
when they have had enough they
set the boxes next to their beds to
box them out of their dreams
again in the morning
and all of this and all of London
is in a box
with a lid tight pushed down on it
by a fat drunk box shaped man
with ass crack sticking out his pants
maybe he is the clouds
or he’s just taking the piss
but they call this freedom
- from the collection, Some poems about life and stuff by stuart barnes