This poem describes my lunchtime routine at the canteen next to my office.

Lunchtime

Red bunker, noisy canteen,
Pensioners flock,
Boring unlikely scene,
People eat and talk.

Outside, spring is bright,
Lunchtime is gone,
Brief moments for a bite,
No time to dream or yawn.

Get back to office,
Register your presence,
Is there any justice
For such an obsolescence?