Strictly Satire #9 Poem by Kewayne Wadley

He whines and moans about every little thing.
He's moved from job to job.
At times, you hate to see him coming.
Unstable in every sense of the word.
Tobacco written breath. The stench of booze from when drinking on the clock.
How could this go unnoticed by our superiors.
Yet again, this senseless buddy system of constant favors.
He makes the biggest issue of the smallest thing. Ignoring the constant mistakes
he himself makes.
Granted, nobody is perfect. With a little help.
A pebble could easily be moved. He's the type of guy to kick the pebble when no one is looking.
A never ending barrage of cruel bland jokes.
Again he whines, again he moans.
He hides in the back of the warehouse or sneaks to his car to take a couple shots of liquor.
He doesn't try to hide it anymore as we are right in front of the supervisors office.
Anything to make it through the day I suppose.
Then again, I suggest anger management, or some type of council.
But there is an open slot on the union if he hasn't worn out his welcome