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.
