The sun shines on the dawning day;
You hope to make your share of hay.
The coffee sits within the pot;
The burner off, the swill not hot.
You use a brand-new razor blade;
You next apply a small BAND-AID.
You try to eat some cereal;
The week-old milk smells terrible.
You brush your teeth and rinse with Scope;
The shower has shampoo, no soap.
You choose cuffed pants, your legs insert;
You don your cleanest dirty shirt.
You grab your briefcase, phone, and keys;
You slide into your car with ease.
The dashboard says to fill the tank;
The billfold says to hit the bank.
The errands run, you rush to work;
You soon get stuck behind some jerk.
You find your parking spot is taken;
You think martini, stirred, not shaken.
You spend four hours at your desk;
The site is less than picturesque.
You focus on a few accounts;
You make some trades, no great amounts.
You order lunch—the usual;
You eat within your cubicle.
You find the beef is corned, not roasted;
The bread is soft—it should be toasted.
You make some calls, then sort some mail;
The spam, the junk, they never fail.
A co-worker sticks up his head;
You wish he kept it down instead.
Another struts her sexy stuff;
You have seen more than is enough.
Your boss drops by just to complain;
It seems the rain still falls in Spain.
You leave the office right at five;
Ten miles is but an hour’s drive.
Another jerk soon cuts you off;
You think of quitting work for golf.
At six you reach your own abode;
You enter with the standard code.
You pour a glass of Pinot Noir;
It tasted better yester soir.
You bake a pizza—pepperoni;
The claim, real cheese, must be baloney.
From eight till ten you watch t.v.;
No channel surfed deserves h.d.
You go to bed to saw one log;
Your mind grinds on from cog to cog.
Jane Blanchard of Georgia (USA) has recent work in Allegro, Concho River Review, Lighten Up Online, and Third Wednesday. Her fourth collection with Kelsay Books is In or Out of Season.
