Bunker

Harsh light on sore eyes cannot hide the grime of this place;

Food-splattered walls, crumbs on the floor,

Finger-smudged windows and matted carpets,

I will call it home for now.

 

My home lies beneath the earth’s surface,

Void of sunlight and the passage of time,

But no hand of the clock will grant me slumber;

Down here I am always awake.

 

This home is not mine alone, for there are others

But they do not disturb me, nor I them.

It is only the antics of mice which concerns me;

We are all mice down here anyway.

 

No comfort do I find in my comrades through,

So I work and I work,

Waiting for the day that I leave this grimy place,

And find a new home for myself.