A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I execute it all for pay.
My daily trade is killing time.
I slice the day up like a lime
in sections green and silver-gray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I'm practiced in this pantomime,
proficient, quite au fait.
My daily trade is killing time.
Like a hit man in his prime
I knock off the hours of the day.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
Yet killing here is not a crime;
it's merely the established way.
My daily trade is killing time.
No. killing here is not a crime;
it's the toll road through this fray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
My daily trade is killing time.
As a person who likes to stay busy, I hated it when, after 16 years as Audit Director at a university, I was transferred to Assistant Controller working for a person who truly earned her title as "Controller". Since the decision had not been hers, she resented it (as close as I can figure, anyway) so she held back on assigning me work or letting me do work, even when she talked about being swamped. Also it was a large office and I couldn't help but notice a lot of "goofing off". The situation was grist for the mill for this poem...and luckily didn't last long. I left and went in a whole new direction and have been my own boss ever since. :-)
