All constraints torment me with the blues.

An open office split by folding walls,

The cries of co-workers,unmusical,

Upon my pained ears unsweetly fall.

I hear them mutter,cough;I hear them fart,

These sounds soothe not my isolated soul

For though I hear them, well  we are apart.

I see no face nor gesture to console.

And should perchance I need to take a piss

I’m loth as I’ve adapted to my bonds.

An ensuite lavatory would be  true bliss;

And save me frightening ducks on yonder pond.

Yet if not this jail, which jail would I choose?

All constraints torment me with the blues.