The Mantra Of The Well-meaning

The world will keep turning
Take a break
Take a deep breath
Regroup
It’s only work
It’s not the real world
You don’t know these people
Ignore
Close your eyes
Step away from the screen
Turn off the TV
The radio
Buy no papers
Overhear no conversations
Take a break
Ignore
Regroup
Until when?
When you’re recovered?
From the printed missiles
The abuse piped through your Ethernet cable
Peel off your skin
Put on that thicker suit
And begin again
Accept your fate;
Recourse will not be yours
The paper planes
Carrying miniature bombs
Have already landed
They sit in your inbox
At your desk
When you’re out and about
Or curled foetal at home on your bed
They’ll explode with random abandon
Once set in motion they are in orbit
Waiting to hit the atmosphere
And explode on impact
But lest you forget
The mantra of the well-intentioned
The world will keep turning
Take a break
Take a deep breath
Regroup
It’s only work
It’s not the real world
You don’t know these people
Ignore

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