No one calls

I wake to another dreary day, I know already it will be the same.

I walk downstairs and hunt all day for a job that pays a decent wage.

I send out cvs and applications, to every office in this whole damned nation

But alas, no one calls.

I search the papers I ring up Reed, but they tell me there is no job  for me.

So I raid my penny jar in the hope of affording  even a chocolate bar.

I call in favours from old friends

But alas, another dead end.  

Why, oh why did I do that degree? I say hating myself so violently.

The writing is how I find my release, the only way I get some peace.

by Joseph  A. K. Turner