Sometimes I think I have a lot
Upon my figurative plate
Because I have so little time
And go to sleep too late
And then I see somebody
Working nineteen hours for minimal pay
And I go home just thinking
“What flavor pizza should I get today?”
Sometimes I think I have a lot
Upon my figurative plate
Because I have so little time
And go to sleep too late
And then I see somebody
Working nineteen hours for minimal pay
And I go home just thinking
“What flavor pizza should I get today?”
Filed under Poems
I always wonder how it feels
To work in an apple orchard.
Is picking fruit for people’s meals
Akin to being tortured?
It can’t be that bad, you say
But what happens if you break a leg?
Those apples all day keep the doctors away
No matter how much you beg!
Filed under Poems
You think because you aren’t paid well
And work a lot of hours
Doing work you don’t enjoy
And your outlook on life sours
That means you have a lousy job?
Your misery sorely pales
To the job of being the fish they feed
To the SeaWorld killer whales.
Filed under Poems
‘Twas the night before Monday
And all through the nation
There were people in need
Of another vacation.
They’d worked all their lives
Forty hours or more,
Fighting tooth and nail
For a new higher score.
The cost of the score
Was not steep if you count
Sanity and free time
As a meager amount,
And so they awoke
To commute and check out
And that, my dear kids,
Is what work’s all about.
Filed under Poems
Today we got to experience twice
The hour of 1:00 AM.
As hours go, it was very nice
And my sleep was remarkably REM.
Tomorrow I get to experience once
The hour of butt-crack-of-dawn
So I sign off this poem with the word “dunce”
And a working man’s 8:00 PM yawn.
Filed under Poems
My boss said I’m incompetent
Because I visit the bathroom a lot.
Then I developed incontinence
And now visit that room I do not.
Filed under Poems
‘Twas on a night near end of Spring
When I was asked to write a thing
Describing how the flowers bloomed
Even though humanity’s doomed.
“Roses are red“, so started my verse
“And violets are blue, unlike that hearse.”
And then I decided since I’d end up dead
To quit writing poems and play golf instead.
So wrote a lesser poet just days
Before he was eaten by the undead horde.
When apocalypse comes, I’ll struggle in ways
But never complain that, when writing, I’m bored.
Filed under Poems
I got through a day that was difficult
Like climbing the face of a hill
By sacrificing the strength if my body
And exercising my will.
Long are the days that I labor
But worthy are arduous climbs,
Or so I thought ‘til I realized
I have to do this 11,000 more times…
Filed under Poems
There once was a poet at work
(I’m at lunch, so naught do I shirk).
I ate quickly so
I cranked out a po
Em. How’s that for a quirk?
Filed under Poems
Today I worked an eight-hour day
And did not feel blue
Until I finally realized
I must tomorrow too…
Filed under Poems