Tuesday Poem – The 0800 Man

won’t listen

wants to tell me

how things must be done

which way.

I‘d rather make my own mistakes


The 0800 man

is frightened of mistakes.

At knock off time

they chase him home

clown feet slapping

on the tarmac.

And when it’s dark

they dim the lights.

Enfold him

in pom pom embrace.

Deafen him                                                                  

with sloppy clown kisses.

Leave greasepaint

on his face.

(c) Helen McKinlay

I wrote this last year. I had become increasingly frustrated with communicating on 0800 lines  and receiving unsatisfactory answers. It was not long after the earthquake and it was a stressful time for communications people.

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