Best Coworkers Poems
Why aren't you smiling back at me
I'm having a great day, don't you see
Why aren't people friendly anymore
Common courtesy has gone out the door
Kids off to school without any trouble
Kisses and hugs then rush to work
On the double
Job duties completed right on time
Run to grocery store, can't get behind
Pick up kids and all will be fine
I see a familiar face I hadn't seen in a while
She glances at me but there is no smile
She kinda just looked right through me
I don't get it, can't we all just be friendly
How hard is it to crack a small smile
Common courtesy is gone, no denial
Delicious supper shared with family
Spouse shares sad news he heard today
The woman I just saw in the store
Lost husband suddenly the week before
She was diagnosed with cancer, stage four
And will only survive a few months more
The cancer has spread despite all the chemo
No family for support and to lean on
Now her sole support in her life is gone
She probably won't survive very long
I am not smiling when I hear this news
Nor smiling but now changing my views
Not smiling when drop kids off at school
Can't smile at work, I feel such a fool
Coworkers ask why aren't you smiling
Smiling has taken on a new meaning
It's not as spontaneous as was before
I don't smile as much as I use to
Looking at sullen, smile less faces
What caused happiness to be erased
Death and disease and family stresses
Abuse and loss and money messes
Maybe my smile will bring you comfort
And if you don't smile back, I will hope
And pray you have a reason to smile again
Someday..........
I can not turn off my brain
It is driving me insane
So many thoughts I can't get out
I just want to scream and shout
Keeping me up every night
Mornings looking like a fright
From the lack of sleep I know
It's now beginning to show
How crazy it's making me
Friends, coworkers, family
Are seeing the insane signs
From me crossing loony lines
Into goofy, strange and weird
Sometimes even I get scared
I can't do this anymore
I'm gonna even up the score
Finding the hidden sandman
Knowing that I finally can
Get some needed sleep or I
Will make this little creature cry
From the spanking he will get
It's his fault-- he wont forget
To now visit me for bed
Or I'll stay loopy in the head
MY BIRTHDAY DURING COVID
The laughter’s the same
my forty-fifth year,
with a softer refrain
for the birthday song.
My forty-fifth year,
my coworkers gather
for the birthday song,
ten-person skeleton crew.
My coworkers gather
six feet apart,
ten-person skeleton crew
extending beams of friendship.
Six feet apart,
their eyes shine
extending beams of friendship
across the social distance.
Their eyes shine
as their song floats
across the social distance
through sun-filled windows.
As their song floats,
I remember this refrain
through sun-filled windows
by friends for birthdays past.
I remember this refrain,
missing the warmth of hugs
by friends for birthdays past
like ribbons on gifts.
Missing the warmth of hugs,
I still bask in gazes and smiles
like ribbons on gifts.
The smaller chorus is clearer!
I still bask in gazes and smiles.
With a softer refrain,
the smaller chorus is clearer.
The laughter’s the same.
I can’t sleep because I can’t breathe
My mind is bleeding red thoughts so odd
Thoughts like I wish to eat and not get fat
To stop coughing up my blue heart
It occurs to me COVID is the beast
That killed my clairvoyant auntie
And I suddenly realize that
I did not have it harder than her
She battled breast cancer
With chemotherapy and her work laptop
So valuable to her coworkers it was
Nothing for them to email during procedures
So why take her and leave me
It’s not my time it seems
But I am sad she passed
Before shots were available
So I don’t get to woe is me
But I do wish to see her again
When it is my time.
She slips in late, almost every day,
begins her work, though it’s mostly play,
first catches up with her office mates---
every detail, her loves and her hates;
each story repeated several times or more,
to everyone passing her wide-open door;
after some minutes, she grabs up the phone,
most often personal, frequent calls home,
how many messages can one woman take?
Guinness should be called, for heaven’s sake.
Some little tragedy and the drama begins,
so many times, taking all different spins,
each little event spun for more sympathy
in grand scheme to move up the company.
Then acting begins, depending on need
as she maneuvers for additional leave.
How can that be? Can there be more time
left over on this generous company’s dime?
So by morning meeting, is anything done?
Likely not, but she hoodwinks everyone.
“Oh my. I’m so busy. I think I must ask---
someone else here to take over this task.”
Then down comes the boss, and up in a flash,
she’s amazingly quick in the three-meter dash,
“Look here old man, see what I did for the job?”
And in response his weary head starts to bob,
“such a good girl, keep up the great work,”
and we all know she’s angling for a new perk.
“I worked hard at home, for at least two hours,”
she tells the guy who holds all of the powers,
while under their breath her coworkers sneer,
“she doesn’t even work when she’s stuck here.”
After morn meeting she’s back on the horn---
to mother, brother, broker, lovelorn,
not to mention her bevy of needy friends,
to whom her ear she willingly lends.
Now---perhaps---she’ll get some work in,
unless it is time for her daily luncheon.
Scheduled an hour for her time to eat,
but ninety-five minutes she seldom will beat.
And then for three hours in the afternoon,
if she works even one, it will make her head swoon,
although she’ll get up for the middle-day break,
she never misses it, don’t make that mistake.
Finally the day reaches five on the clock,
but somehow she slipped out---with earlier flock!
A man as Bengali, the man created Bangladesh.
A man of politics, a man of revolution.
A man, called the father of a nation,
The father of a new era human being.
A man who fought for an oppressed nation,
The man who fought all for the people.
Who got imprisoned in several times
By the oppressor of the then government of
Pakistan, and the fundamentalists.
Bangabandhu, who is the father of
The new mode of socialism, made a historically
Successful revolution through a nine months
Freedom fights by his followers and coworkers.
He was rightfully in the direction of
Producing 'creative socialism' in the name of
BaKSAL-Bangladesh Krishak Sramik Awami League.
[Bangladesh Worker-Peasant's People's League]
But the oppressors and suckers were always in
Finding a road to destroy Bangabandhu and his
Humanity bound politics.
Finally the traitors did the heinous killing
And ruinous mission of withdrawal the
Tree of the nation, all deprived people of the world!
They killed the entire family of the father of the Bengali nation,
Even they brutally killed the little boy
Sheikh Russel, the youngest son of Bangabandhu.
They killed Bangabandhu literally, but
The beasts never kill the messages of
The great man Bangabandhu, who produced verses
For an oppressed nation, for the entire people of the world.
I was writing that last poem
with my car door open
right after work
In the parking lot
And my coworkers
stopped to chat
"Im just writing a quick poem" I told them
Joann said "just now"
Cassie smiled
"Do you want me to read it to you?" I asked
"Sure" they said
So I did
Joann said " You wrote that just now. Wow"
" I wish I could write like that."
Cassie retorted "That would take me three or four
weeks to write. "
Joan said " Me too."
I said " Thanks guys for going on this journey with
me. I write so they won't send me to psyche ward for
30 days. Your coworker will be gone for a little while
but she'll be back shorty they'll tell you."
Joan said " Thirty days. That wouldn't be so bad."
She said it so matter of fact yet whimsically
I said " Maybe not. Free breakfast and here's your drugs
Holly."
We all laughed at that.
They both said " We'll see you friday."
So I drove away thinking
They are probably signing the commitment papers
shortly
My coworkers that keep my insanity sane
And my boss Heather that cries with me
I'm grateful for these women, you better believe
Wesley Melvin Buchan, also known as Wesmechan,
was a pusillanimous and a good-for-nothing,
although some people consider him a charlatan,
this scoundrel's office runs like a three-ring
circus. Oddly enough, many his coworkers and
classmates fear him no end, like a spider obsessed
with the asphyxia of planets, but the magic wand,
however, whether you like it or not, will infest
your brain and your wallet. Far from being a panegyric
this is indeed a diatribe, injected by venomous expletives,
deserved by this lunkhead, Wesley, a most idiotic
waste of space but I love him, although he's not my relative.
entering into the Sea of Words contest by Leighann Anderson 7/3/2011
Remembering...
I was 27 years old, and in my second year of working for my first real "grown
-up"
job. There is something powerful about wearing a pair of pressed matching scrubs, a
name tag addressed by first name only, and a stethoscope around the neck( a lot
heavier than the plastic one I was so accustomed to in my junior doctor kit.) I
thought I had the answer to any medical problem thrown my way...I was wrong.
In between bringing patients to their rooms, the receptionist, who is the spitting
image of Barbie, minus the plastic legs, informed me I had a phone call, and is very
important.
Being my first "personal" call at my job as a registered medical assistant, I
immediately had to remove my "work hat" and don my "me hat", something I tend to
lack some knowledge in.
My head overflowing with a thick fog, I try to navigate everything out before saying
the usual greeting, to no avail.
My sweaty palm takes hold of the receiver and a voice I barely recognize mouths the
appropriate greeting;
This is the phone call that would change my life forever...
I could sense through the black receiver plastered with a large "911" sticker, my
mom has been crying for quite sometime. Her trembling followed the same route I took home from work everyday after I left work and went
home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home
voice cracking the words of an accident.
With the word accident replaying over and over like a 33 vinyl record skipping at the
best part of the song, I hung up the phone.
I began to wipe the stream before it formed a puddle on the dirty blue carpet of the
doctors office.
Coworkers hands patting me on the shoulder, back, hand and arm, I was taking on the role of the patient, with not a clue of what to say or do.
I got in my beat-up white Mazda 210, not sure where the road would lead me. I followed the same route I took home from work everyday and went home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home sweet home, where
everything is so routine. I so longed for that right now. I pulled into the driveway, alone, scared, confused, and filled with the question of why .
I stumble to the front odor. to be continued....
As most days go, this seems pretty good
Doesn't take much to affect my mood
Just a simple greeting like “Have a good day”
As I show up at the office in the nude
The reaction of coworkers sure tickles my fancy
With my dangly bits dancing around
They try not to stare but it's kind of impossible
As my studly maleness astounds
When I settle down on my black leather chair
I let out a childlike whimper
My super warm flesh on the this super cold leather
Makes me scream out the name of my vicar
The ladies gather round never ever having seen
Seventy-eight year old dangly bits
I start twisting and turning like a beautiful ballerina
Slapping a giddy-up on my hips
Well as this day goes it's not necessarily the best
Got rid of some of my inhibitions
Till the security dudes burst into the office
Felt like the Spanish Inquisition
© Jack Ellison 2014
Once seduced by his junior coworkers
Old man took his dates to the lockers
They used penile tweezers
And shagged like young weasels
Too bad he forgot beta-blockers
Sordid tales your eyebrows tell
Insinuations start to sing
Things we all know very well--
Say, did you miss my wedding ring?
You’d do you worst right here and now
A stealthy drink from your chalice
Want me to forget the wedding vows,
A mechanical bull with phallus?
Pursing your lips, parading your hips
All the while, I’m stifling quiet laughter
As if your fries and shake could eclipse
My seven course happily ever after!
Coworkers of giant ego
And undersized self-restraint
Have fallen prey to your libido
Flushed it all to taste your taint
But see, here’s the baseline reality
About my availability you’re mistaken
Unless my wife’s nonexistent bisexuality
You can magically awaken
Sure, maybe you can be a roast turkey slice
Between our marital sandwich bread
Or our fresh sushi covered in rice--
I shouldn’t joke; now you’re being misled…
But seriously, there’s nothing to discuss
What you’re implying just ain’t happening
Further coquetry is simply superfluous
Back to the regularly scheduled programming
And in closing, here’s what I’d do
If you’re looking for lifestyle enhancement
Instead of looking for married men to woo
Perhaps try some legit career advancement.
5/1/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Hello, I’m in here
You talk above me, as you
call me dear
I may be trapped in this
decaying shell
But I am in here midst my
own private hell
You talk to your coworkers
of family and friends
While you bathe me and
dress me the message you
send
Is that you really don’t
care who lies here, who I
am
You just want your work
finished , you don’t give a
damn
I once was important just
like you are
To family and friends I’d
travel so far
To comfort in death or
share in their joy
So to you and your friends
I must employ
As I lie here immobile,
helpless, diseased
Talk to me anyway, I beg
you oh please
I need to know that I still
exist
I may not respond but
please do persist
I’m in here
I Used to be this girl that was so concieted. taking pics of myself always saying how
beautiful i looked to my self and was told that all the time. a couple years go past i look in
the mirror and hate what i see. from being harrased about my gender at work from
coworkers to managers and then having it happen in my personal life took a toll on my
confidence.. when i look into a mirror i see what they see. hearing people ask is that a
man. tore me down because i use to drop to my knees at work asking god whats wrong
with me. looking at myself saying ewww hating myself picking on myself for what others
saw. dont be blinded by what you see in the pic. lord knows im all woman. i just want the
ignorance to stop. thinking if i popped a bottle of pills and ended my life it all will go away i
couldnt take it.. but god told me that im still alive for a reason and i can over come this..
crying to my past boyfriend. to hearing his mom whispering mean things about me to her
son. but never telling him i knew.. thinking if i layed across a table to get surgery then it all
will go away. still nothing helped me get through this pain.. i havent went through this all
my life and to go through it now bothers me who am i?
I’m angry,
Ticked at the situation you created,
You pulled me into this mess and here I am,
Forced to tell the world of your wrong doing.
What were you thinking?
How could you be so callous?
These people are my friends, my coworkers,
People that I’ve shared a drink with,
People I’ve sweated in the heat of the summer with,
People I’ve frozen my toes off in the winter with;
You thought I’d just roll over and take it,
That they’d take it;
And here we are staring at each other over a table in anger,
You’ve every right to be mad, but so do I;
So do I and all of them;
Once upon a time we joked together and now we sit here,
Separated by a table of hate and loathing;
What can I say…
You did this to yourself…
The very height of Irony