#writing #poetry #SweetSolitude

The place that he worked seemed much like a zoo. With weasels and parrots and chimpanzees too! (The monkeys, I’ve heard, just loved slinging poo.)

He showed up each day, our Robert (Bob) Tate, He worked very hard and never was late. (Even those days he didn’t feel great.)

On some days the weasels, when taking some flak, would divert attention with a stab in the back. (Because it’s much better If they all blame Jack.)

The parrots we mentioned could baffle a sleuth. Repeating all statements regardless of truth! (A skill they picked up no doubt in their youth)

The chimps in the office were the worst of all: Flinging their feces on windows and walls. (Somehow they’d hit you through the phone on a call.)

Backstabbing weasels and shit spewing chimps; the parrot ass kissers are only a glimpse. (I’ve not even mentioned the meddling imps!)

Poor Robert (Bob) Tate our struggling guy, Dealt with these people every day to get by. (If I said it was easy I’d be telling a lie.)

He dreaded each day and the start of each week. But the job paid the bills and Tates needed to eat. (Bob couldn’t bear his kids out on the street.)

So each day he worked drained both strength and mind. Exhausted and broken from the daily grind. (A common occurrence I’m sure you will find)

#poetry #DrSeuss #life