Being special isn't worth ****
   Unless you've got the work ethic
                                                         To­ go along with it.

Sunday evening I feared you
I loathed, I despised, I hated you
from knee high to a spacehopper
to hard bitten bitter nine to fiver

You forced me to panic homework
for Monday morning double maths
to thoughts of cockroached Barmouth baths
of corporal leather punishment
by spittle mouthed ****** heads
of departmental worries and dreads

You turned up every week
to haunt me into a midnight fever
to turn to late teenage ******
to fortify a nascent career
in the blood, sweat and tears
of warehouses, factories, offices
of bosses talking out of orifices

You stank the rest of the week out
the **** end of a weekend of fun
pulling the plug after a sip of
decadence over 3 and a bit decades

I heard some say they liked school
I listened to bizarre boastings and
tales of job loving behaviour
what the hell is that?
recognise it I did not
rarely happy with my lot
only happy when complaining

Well, Sunday evening I'm at the controls now
I drove you off a cliff before
leaping out into a field of shift work
where your evil offspring
Monday morning couldn't drag me down into soulless drudgery
mindless tweeting like a budgeri...gar

So, Sunday evening I've dredged you
from the sea floor to my open door
and into my troubled heart
you're not a bad old ******* now
I've learned to caress your stigma
you can't hurt me anymore
your tail no longer wags this old dog

To the late night train
You hop on and off of
Making frequent stops
Working overnight for your enjoyment
Over worked and used
Is no longer in service
We had to realign ourselves

I’m as poor as a rich man, but I’d buy it every night for the rest of my life.

A mellow breeze in a wishful sun
   fills waterfall flowers with honeybees
   where ageing grass, still young at heart,
   sways to music this autumn dreams.
      
      Sweet as honey and missed in seasons,
      the summer waves goodbye in peace.
         And what for fruitful hands today?
         Clammy, they’d be, away with spades.

A shallow river in the twilight sun
   brings hope to budding flowers of may
   where swathes of land, still rife with hope,
   sing in raindrops this autumn plays.
      
      Sour as lemon, yet yearned with reason;
      last winters madness is still yet to atone.
         And what for hopeful minds today?
         Busy, they’d be, in morrows ways.

Those swollen blue hands in the evening sun
   sees waterfall flowers with trees afar
   where times attritions, still young in regret,
   take no measure of our autumns jar!

a dead-end job or as a boss
doesn't matter
better than to
sit at home
thinking about
what to work on

Oh the coworker
the unadulterated
unparalleled
utterly useless,
coworker

I love the way
your eyes light up
while staring at your phone

I adore the way
you inspire action
through your inaction

I admire the way
your attention to detail
is seen through your snide remarks

Oh coworker
I aspire to attain
your level
of not giving ****