Hi ho, hi ho, and back at work I am. The holidays are fading, the new year is really here, and reality bites. (Hi Ho, part three.)

Dogsbody.

It’s back to my dead-end job, back to the hard slog,
And straight back into harness, mush, like a sled dog.

Back under the boss’s beady eye and curled lip,
Shrinking from that tongue that cuts like a whip.

But soon I’ll break and snap back, ’cause, as they say
Even a good dog will have their bloody bad day.

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So much for Hi Ho, off to work we joyously go… Guess I’ve got them post-holiday blues.

Workaday.

Oh, yes, it’s back to work I’ve gone,
Here I am, sat upon my sit-upon,

Gazing blankly at a blinking screen
Brooding on the good days just been,

Looking out at a bright bright sunshiny day
Thinking darkly ‘Christmas is 333 days away.’

Hi ho, hi ho, oh no! It’s off to work we go. Oh, woe is me.

No Holiday Camp.

Tomorrow is the day of reckoning,
The joy of gainful employment is beckoning.

Say, for anotherĀ year
‘I’m happy to be here.’

After my holidays my joyous job holds no allure,
From vacation to vocation, it’s my job to endure.

Don comes up against the Democrats, and they keep on stonewalling him. It’s lucky (and a relief) Don remains so restrained and constrained.

Childs Play.

Into each life a little rain must fall
And for Donny it has begun to spit,
He can’t get his way and get his wall,
Aww, poor babe, Don can’t get over it.

When it’s the rich privileged life you live,
Of having it made, and always being obeyed,
When it’s always take take take and never give
Don’t tell Don to take lemons and make lemonade.

Don asks for nothing more
Than to simply have his way,
So off he goes, and slams the door-
Left, and gone with nothing good to say.

But it is not Don’s way to quietly sit and pout,
To sob in silence, save for the tears sad patter patter,
And so, in true tantrumpian fashion Don lets it all out-
Taking all that crap against his wall ain’t no piddling matter.

Not much help, being a blubber-mouth when a strong voice is required. Words can fail me sometimes, but my family never does.

In My Eye.

I sat misty eyed all through the eulogy,
Fine words heard makes it hard to see,
When my daughter rose I went to her side,
To stand strong, some comfort to provide.

If she faltered with her words I’d said
I’d take on the recitation in her stead,
But when I stood forth, as if to speak
Well, damn my eyes, they began to leak.

I had said I would speak up without a quaver
But on looking down the words began to waver,
So I stood by, mournfully manfully staunching my eye,
Ah, but my daughter spoke far more eloquently than I.

Sometimes, life is not fair. Sometimes, life is sad. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.

Starry Night.

In the middle of the night, when you get that call
You know, the blackness can get darker, after all,
There’s nothing left to do
But step outside to think it through,
You find your mind and time stand terribly still
As you follow your feet on the climb up Calton Hill.

Look to the sky and see, in the unfathomable black
A myriad of stars, a galaxy blinking- and winking back,
And there’s nothing you can do
But gaze up to see the night through,
To wait and watch till in the east, black turns to grey
As slowly, ever slowly, the light dawns on a new day.

(For T)

A belated restaurant review of Cracker Barrel, Kingman, Arizona. One bite, and there goes the diet.

Travel Feedback.

By Kingman we were heartily tired of traveling and the take-out Big Mac
So we sat us down at Cracker Barrel, picked up a menu and kicked back,
We ordered us some vittles, and I settled on the junior pancake stack
When I saw a diner walk out with a doggy bag the size of a potato sack.

As the waitress gamely heaved it before me I heard the groaning table crack,
The portions plated up at Cracker Barrel make *Hungry Jacks look cheap-jack,
Bacon, pancakes, butter, maple syrup, or as they say in the US, a light snack,
You may think I’m joking, but believe me, I’m serious as a heart attack.

*Hungry Jacks in Australia, Burger King in the US.