There are times, times when Nature calls
When on the verge but the urge stalls;
After arriving white-knuckled,
Zipping down, belt unbuckled,
Then taking your seat with indecent haste
You find yourself sat, with time to waste.
What a tedious place to be confined,
In a silent cubicle, in a bind.
But no poet minds being ‘unavoidably detained,’
Sitting, pondering, mind wandering unrestrained,
I refuse to sit idly by,
I’ve pen and paper, triple ply…
Now my tale is told, and in reasonable rhyme,
A half-decent job, given the constraints of time.
It’s a bit slap-dash, it won’t win any poetry prize
But this gutsy effort still brings tears to my eyes.
(This is as close to the edge of bad taste as I tread. And who wants to tread any deeper?)
If you’re in Houston and place an emergency call
Crenshanda Williams won’t be concerned at all,
Whatever dire emergency you wish to report
Crenshanda likes to keep calls concise, and short.
All she wants at her workplace is contemplative quietude
But people insist on calling in and killing the mood,
All these people saying it’s a matter of life and death,
Her curt advice to them is to save their breath.
Crenshanda was told at her last workplace review
‘Answering emergency dispatches ain’t the calling for you,’
She won’t be working long here, that’s the word I hear,
Crenshanda’s being thrown out on her unsympathetic ear.