Boss Poem by Morgan Michaels
Boss
Rating: ★5.0
The boss is third-row crazy.
When he fumes I don't fret
The weather in my cubicle stays breezy.
I know I'm on track.
But if he laughs and slaps my back
I get nervous. 'You f-cked up',
it's as much as to say and I start to suspect,
I've done something really wrong
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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5/7/2024 7:42:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
