16 Monotony

Today is Monday, the first of seven.
This day uninvited appears every week.
A slap in the face, a hand on the cheek.
Overtime needed, here ‘til eleven.
Thanks to a sick worker; his name, Kevin.
Older I feel. I am not at my peak
No longer new here, more like an antique.
No improvement or chances to leaven.
Simply a worker, a cog in the wheel.
Mouthing obedience, tasting defeat.
Muted opinions, they tell how we feel.
Expectations and metrics, what a treat!
We go home and sleep, our rest feels like sin.
Rising to know we must do it again.