Ode to A Dickhead

Dear Sir, I thank you for your note:
Its contents are sublime.
I love to get a missive
From a figure that’s divine.

For I do believe you think you’re God.
You claim to rule the roost.
But I am here to burst your bubble,
To lay down honest truth.

You offer an opinion
That’s a waste of effing time,
Demanding money, praise and notice
And the first place in the line

To get the kudos for the item
That ensues from your request,
To be lauded and be feted,
To be hailed as the best.

But the truth is that it’s muggins here,
Who’ll do the hardest work,
Spending hours on the telephone,
Whilst labour you will shirk.

I’ll linger at the laptop
Making pages and designs
For the thing you are expecting;
It will take up all my time.

My real work will suffer then,
There’ll be no flights or trains,
And my scientists won’t travel far,
To talk about their brains.

They’ll be stranded in the airports
When my work is left undone,
They’ll be angry and be moody,
But they’ll pick on the wrong one.

They’ll blame me for my failings,
Which is fair and right and just.
But they won’t care that it’s your fault
They’re left standing in the dust.

I’ll be picking up the pieces
For the days and weeks to come;
I’ll be missing all the dinners
That I should have with my mum.

I’ll find myself abandoned
In the office after dark,
I’ll find myself berated
And receiving awful snark.

So take your note and shove it,
In a crevice no-one sees.
If you want that thing to happen,
Then don’t come asking me!!!

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