The man looked up, and sighed,
swirling his cup of tea,
having such a sweet thought,
“why aren’t they more like me?”
After gulping down tradition,
he goes, to do his rounds,
not caring about their feelings,
just thinking about the pounds,
his telepathic whipping,
makes them a nervous wreck,
they have to keep foundation,
for things to be in check,
their strikes, may occur,
but he will never change,
“work is what their paid for”,
is his slogan on the page,
one wry smile, and many glares,
means no open forum,
it’s the company policy,
to make a human burden,
made by a suit of pain,
their coins; are black and blue,
forgetting what she had sung,
“nothing compares to you!”