Tag Archives: Work

Empathy Is For Other People

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?”

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Did OSHA Overlook This?

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!

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Talk About Stuck In A Lousy Job!

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.

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The Non-Holiday Season

‘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.

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Time And Suffering

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.

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A Depends-able Workers

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.

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The Weaker Poetry Bloggers, One Year Into The Apocalypse… #Weak

‘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.

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Ode To Retiring At 65

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…

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Yeah, Like My Coworkers Read My Blog… 😂

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?

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Happy 18th Birthday?

Today I worked an eight-hour day

And did not feel blue

Until I finally realized

I must tomorrow too…

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