She will talk your darn ear off
Give a second or two
It will turn to 10 minutes at least
And her manner, it seems
Is unfriendly at best
And at worst it’s a spite-ridden beast!
Wouldn’t matter the test
If she’s put on the spot, she just can’t
And don’t ever talk back
She can’t take what she gives
She’ll report you in teary-eyed rant
Seems she’s absent, again
For the 10th time this year
Never mind that we’re just 2 months in
And the personal calls
She sneaks in from the back
To her many Latverian kin
To work, feed birds or walk?
Is a question we’d ask
If it mattered to her just a bit
But it doesn’t, you see
And you’ll see, same as we
About WORK she just won’t give a shit!
Looking back on the years
At the job you once hearted
Most of us do the best that we can
But the Bird-Lady, no –
Even on constant trial…
Good work-ethic’s not really her plan!
Now perhaps you’ve been cornered
And you crinkle your nose
Since you can’t believe WHAT you just heard
She’ll say ‘oh, sorry!’ and run
Leaving you in a smog
Whose aroma resembles a turd!
– But you work on in hopes …
(Sucking up burnt-popcorn smoke)
–That perhaps one day, she’ll FINALLY BE TOAST!–
…Instead of constantly burning that shit in the office toaster oven; and stealing people’s food; and taking over the whole refrigerator!!! Friggin’ Biatch…