Despite all his missing teeth
And bombed out cavities
He can still eat bags of
Bricks and speak
With perfect diction.
Somedays we crave
Revolution when
He crosses the line
And we the
Comittee dream
Of removing
His authority.
but theres nothing
Left. So we press
And pull our cigarets.
and curse the birds
and talk about
Whatever *****
Our fancy.

Inside our own jokes and theraputical
Humor:
We wait for him (our boss)
While his briches swell more
And more every hour
Till his buttons burst
And his yellow fork
Lifts final suicide attempt
Becomes a sucessful send off
After to many
Years it finnaly
****** out
All the unchanged oil
And passes out in the
Mainconcorse next
To all the pigeon ****
On top of all the knick nacks
Behind customer service.