Habit struck my hand today

I felt its sting - I pulled away

It said: get up and grab your drawers

Shower shave and close the doors

Your daily task looms large ahead

(I left my other self in bed)

What is this way? How can it be?

A shape walks on - some form of me

I am the nineteenth fabricator

I build the fifteenth elevator

I sport the cables, cut the rod

The channel's ready - I give the nod

Another workman pulls a lever

This metal box could rise forever

encasement taking one and all

the fat and slim the short and tall

To cubicles and conference rooms

these neatly-girdered plate-glass tombs

They write and check and test and measure

all we call our worth and treasure

Count and tag and tie and tote

til plan's complete - another mote

to water-in our magic castle

The way is rote, the manner facile

The day is done - I’ve done my time

King Lear, Macbeth have played their rhyme

The play's complete. The time is when