2122 - My dream job

I don't like to write sonnets too early

In the afternoon there's nothing to say

But sat at work, time ticking so slowly

I must do something to keep sleep at bay

Snoring at my desk wouldn't be OK

In the old days we'd all have our own rooms

In which we'd snore safely late in the day

But open plan offices spelled the doom

Of secret snoozing and the desk-based dream

At least of those surreal visions that we

Are shown by our chaotic snooze-freed play

Of imagination. But there's still room

For daydreams, schemes, shopping lists, texting... See

And hear sights and sounds - sirens, kids at play