Robots In Suits

I've got static for an alarm call
But that's not all I've got.
I've got a mood like thunder
At 7.34 each morning, on the dot.
I've got a coping regime that bothers me
And a train ride I try to forget
By blotting out the whirring scenery
And reading the words a writer regrets.
I've got a weaving walk I take
To avoid the peasants in suits.
Then I steel myself for the steel box
Shooting up to the fourth floor from its roots,
I make a smile seem more worthwhile
Than it can ever be,
I stare at a screen, developed by a machine,
Delivered in a limousine.
Then I push buttons till they pay for swimming pools
Not used by me, nor ever seen.
I look into the lonely eyes of someone else
Neither belonging to me, nor to herself
And later on, when my work is done,
I sidestep to a train
Filled with robots in suits,
And ignore the whirring scenery again.