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On The Job Training
They ask, "Do you work?"
I just mumble and hum.
And wait for the look,
That invariably comes.
It's hard to explain,
How I got in this state.
My energy's drained.
My mind wanders of late.
I've developed a squint.
My posture is stooped.
I'm like an old hen,
Kept too long in a coop.
But I won't leave my desk.
Prospects couldn't be brighter.
They say, "Oh, you're a typist."
I say, "No,
I'm a writer."
Day 19
I love your wit!
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