Give Me Strength.
Working from home is all very well
But my kitchen table looks like Hell,
There’s paperwork piled up by the ream-
I’m regretting being the only ‘I’ in my team.
Come daybreak I’d powered the lap-top up
Feeling less than perky till I poured a cup,
It was my first, it wouldn’t be the last,
MSGs from the boss scrolled in thick and fast.
Me and my lap-top, awash in caffeine,
A constant flow of Java Joe and Benzedrine,
I can’t get the boss off my ass nor my phone,
He don’t like my attitude, I don’t like his tone.
I worked grimly on all morn without a break,
My dutifulness all but proved a big mistake,
Call it a little inkling, call it something in my water
But I couldn’t cut being caught short any shorter.
By now I found it was nigh on high noon
And I was sick of dancing to my boss’s tune,
My actions might wind up getting me the boot
But when I flipped him off the phone went mute.
As I tossed some tasteless treat in the microwave
I mused I was over being the boss’s galley slave,
The boss is truly testing the patience of his Job guy
Thought I, turning my eye and microwave up on High.
I was looking forward to my lunch and quiet time
When I heard an unexpected door chime,
My stomach grumbled, I slapped hand to brow,
Who or what kind of fresh Hell is this now?
I opened the door and there they stood-
Three of God’s chosen, here spreading good,
Teeth as bright and white as Gods shining light
Here to tell this wrongdoer how He’ll put me right.
I’ve had (too) many theological conversations before
But never with one who’s slipped a foot in the door,
So even as my lack-lustre lunch was still revolving
Their patently creative argument began devolving.
My patience was wearing mighty thin
And verily, is not trespassing a sin?
So I asked for strength from above
And gave the door an almighty shove.
Still, what one uttered came as a shock-
I swear to God I was born in wedlock-
Brother, I’m sure you regret what you said
And wish you’d taken a vow of silence instead.
But it’s difficult to remain hushed
With both spirits and foot crushed,
And, oh Dear God, as for me-
Sorry about the blasphemy.
I do not foresee seeing that sorry lot back again,
I hope I’ve been blacklisted as bad, mad and profane,
Should they return on my door I’ll stick up my sign-
‘If your’e doing Gods work, go away, I’m doing mine.’