ONCE UPON A HOLIDAY MOON

The Monday after Halloween
I laid down the law to my employees
“You’d better be here on the job
On both Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve”

And if you don’t like what I have to say
Look for someplace else that pays
Cause here in the good old USA
It’s your boss’s way, or the highway"

Much to my surprise no one protested
Not one dared even chirp
Except for old Mable,
Who slowly turned round
Bent over,
And lifted up her skirt

Pulling down her bloomers
All the way to her ankles
She looked over her shoulder
Then said with a smirk,
“You can kiss my old bare ass
Cause this girl won’t be a slave
For some asshole of a jerk”

I was shocked to say the least
And before I could show Mabel the door
All my other employees
Turned round, then bent over
And let their pants hit the floor

Now I ask you my fellow Americans
What sort of country
Allows folks to moon their boss?
Let alone even dare
Try to back talk?

No wonder we send jobs to China
And some to Cameroon
No one there would try to moon
A rich and powerful tycoon

My tale of woe gets worse
After filling out all those pink slips
When I left my office, what did I find?
All my employees picketing
In long strike line

And you know who was leading it?
That damn old Mable
Holding a hickory stick
"Oh Shit!"

So heed my warning
My fellow entrepreneurs
Before telling folks to dance to your tune
There just might be one
Employee like old Mable
Who’s not afraid
To show you the moon

Forgive me but within every pretentious poet, there is a thirteen year old, dying to get out.