As good by the end of eleven hours
Of hard work, as, mid-afternoon, a slight
Was what I faced, an insult, for small cause
I’d not done much wrong at all, but the boss
Of the team rang me directly to moan
And accuse me of trying to tell lies
About what I’d done, or rather, not done
But his accusations were overblown
Afterwards I emailed him with my thoughts
Defending myself against most of his
Erroneous contentions. Who’d have known
After I felt good yesterday that right
Next day I’d be knocked down and at a loss?
No comments:
Post a Comment