Monday, September 7, 2015

A poem for Labor Day.



The morning was a brilliant one
And John was feeling fine
He was a junior member
Teamsters Local 809

The job was at a demo site
For which he'd drive a truck
But twenty minutes into it
He was spit outta luck

They'd laid out all the implements
For deconstructing hovels
Including a long line of wooden-
Handled transfer shovels

John backed his truck by accident
Over handles made of wood
And snapped each handle like a twig
He broke those shovels good

"You nincompoop!" his crew chief yelled
And called him "king of fools"
"You broke our every shovel, John!
Now we ain't got no tools!"

The chief said, "Johnny, call the boss
Admit that you're a clown
And say you are real sorry and
Please just send some shovels down."

The boss told Johnny, "No way, kid,
It's just beyond my powers.
Our other tools are out on site
And won't be back for hours.

"No shovels are no problem, though,
Don't sweat about it, brother.
Just tell the boys they'll have to learn
To lean against each other."

---

Old joke, new poem. Happy Labor Day!
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