Complaints are like Paint…

They fade with time,

Are only in the mind,

Are nothing if not slime,

Hard also to make rhyme,

So allow me also to just climb,

Out of this hole I have produced with so much grime…

I am tired of hearing, complaints about my job,

All I want to do is work it and be left alone,

By other employees, that much do they drone,

Guess I am pretty much altogether prone,

Not to bitch, whine and moan,

As long as I have work to do, I do not need to atone…

Just put me on the road, keep me away from others,

And I will be happy, no worries, no problems, that would be my druthers,

The only thing I can think to do with all these pain in the butt others,

Would be to get them all together and murder them, by the act of smothers…

                   © ed – 4/8/04