Bouncing Back.
Well, I survived my first crazy week back at work
Even though my jerk of a boss drove me berserk.
By Friday I was creeping toward the edge of sanity,
Scarcely able to control my temper, or my profanity.
After my three-week Zen retreat, let’s say, diplomatically
That prat Rich has been acting like a complete prize… dickily.
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.’
No Holiday Camp.
Tomorrow is the day of reckoning,
The joy of gainful employment is beckoning.
Say, for another 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.
Shut Down Till New Year.
Don sits in the dark White House alone and reminisces
Far from his Mar-a-Lago home and his loving missus,
Thinking of what good deeds he’s accomplished in ’18,
Then, of what a wondrous year it could have been.
He turned up the rhetoric at all his rallies
And turned his back on all of our allies.
Those wise-as advisers who came in, so highly vaunted
Left, at his disposal, eyes wide, downcast or haunted,
He’s disgusted his once trusted Lawyer keeps sayin’ he’s lying,
And just why must my learned counsel Mueller keep prying?
I’m all in favour of free speech
But I don’t care to hear ‘impeach.’
Back in ’16 I made a solemn promise I have yet to fulfill,
To build my wall and hand Mexico the six-billion-dollar bill,
It grieves me greatly, friends and neighbours, if I may say so,
To get El Presidente’s middle finger but not one single peso.
Hopefully, soon, good government will resume
Even allowing for the elephant in the room.
Severe To Mild.
I have my good days, I have my bad,
Sadly, what a depressing month I’ve had.
I’d not seen my Doc for a while-
Perhaps he had new meds on phial?
So the good Doctor changed my medication
And my mind went off on a three-week vacation.
I’m happy to know my moods have improved
But throughout the trial my mind felt… removed.
So I asked the Doc to halve the dose
Knowing it would leave us both morose.
It pains me, but being human means being able to feel
And a half-life spent numbly fogged up holds no appeal.
Burn Out On Route 66.
After a hundred desert miles in a hot Mustang rag-top
Near Kingman we turned into a quiet deserted rest-stop,
At 100 decibels AC/DCs intro to ‘Thunderstruck’ was roaring
Unhappily rousing an indignnt down-and-out from his snoring.
He sat up, bloodshot eyes blinking,
Looking much the worse for drinking.
He stumbled out from his refuge of dark concrete
Then his steps syncopated with the pounding beat,
In his long-lost eyes a spark of recognition had flared
As from the rumbling Mustang ‘Thunderstruck’ blared.
He felt a trembling in his shoes-
And not from the DTs from the booze.
The hands he’d balled into fists uncurled,
His bright eyes looked into another world
As far from earthly care as the farthest star
As he began to sway and play his air guitar.
Hungover and down on his luck
But he was all over ‘Thunderstruck.’
Satriani, Slash, Stevie Ray, Page nor Hendrix
Could never hope to replicate those licks,
Whatever had washed through that sodden mind
A flash, a trace of rare talent had been left behind.
He’d had to have led an ass-kicking band-
Before the elbow raising got out of hand.
As the thunder begun to come to a close
On that animated face puzzlement rose,
After a few pyrotechnic moments in the light
Those bright eyes fade and darken, dead as night.
We left behind a man lost, unsung and unstrung,
A sobering warning to any wannabe Angus Young.
Don’t Call Us.
When your iPhone takes a swim
Chances of it working are pretty slim,
Water sure does take its toll
On an Apple bobbing in the bowl.
The insurance company took the call,
They heard the story of your iPhones fall,
Though insurance is so damned expensive
It sure do pay off when it’s comprehensive.
The cheque for a replacement is in the mail,
Ah, but hold on, this isn’t the end of this tale;
Your tenure with the new Samsung was all too brief
Due to the gall of some light-fingered French thief.
The insurance company took the call, again,
Second time around the loss was easier to explain,
The first one might have taken quite the while
But this time the details were fresh on file.
Then came another whirlwind dash to the continent
Where crashing to the terrazzo the Samsung went,
Another call is made on a phone that’s literally cracking up;
My, aren’t the numbers on these new phones backing up?
Another cheque arrives, with a covering letter
Advising one to look after ones new phone better,
With thanks for making full use of your comprehensive claim
But asking you to please- please not renew it, if its all the same.
