The P-murg (grump), Part 1
I go into work every day like I should
And do the best work that I possibly could.
I toil and I sweat (in the figurative way)
And try very hard to get through my work day.
Most people around me are happy and blithe
Like the one who's named Jones and the one who's named Smythe.
But then there appears one of those with a scowl,
That creeps upon us like a cat on the prowl.
And pounces and scratches our blithe, happy moods;
And shakes us 'til limp like some freshly caught food.
You know who they are, these P-Murg type folks;
They don't smile, they don't laugh, they don't tell any jokes.
They may have been pretty or handsome one time,
But they now look all gnarly and covered with grime.
They walk rather slowly and some have a hunch,
And they eat in their office alone every lunch.
They delight in the wrong and aren't sure what is right,
And I don't even think that they dream through the night.
They snarl and they growl and their voices are low,
And they usually say things like "don't care" and "I know".
When they are in meetings they text on their phone
Or check emails and snicker and sometimes they groan.
When two are together it's P-Murg Deluxe,
And the result is more evil than acid reflux.
They can ruin your day in a very short time,
And much more if you pick up a bit of their grime.
Share This Poem