Young Professional — A Poem

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Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was asked by one of the sneering thugs set over me in the office where I worked what was the use of poetry. I thought the answer I gave was no more than good-natured badinage. Sadly everyone else thought otherwise. I didn’t work there much longer.

Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was asked by one of the sneering thugs set over me in the office where I worked what was the use of poetry. I thought the answer I gave was no more than good-natured badinage. Sadly everyone else thought otherwise. I didn’t work there much longer.

Young professional, straining
Through bulging haemorrhoid
The solids of your business lunch
Painfully to void;

Discontented, how to get
Back to your car unsure,
Staring at a dirty invite
Scribbled on the door;

Time to ask and time to say,
Now you sit alone,
Whether so many thousand pounds
Are worth so many stone.

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