Pretending you're at work,
Whenever you get half a chance,
Your duties try to shirk.
You ask me nearly every day,
"Have you written something new?"
You shout and rave and rant and roar
Till your face starts turning blue.
So I sat down one quiet night
And wrote this little piece,
In hope that in the end perhaps
Your noise will finally cease.
I hope that you are satisfied,
So now I will retreat,
And sign myself, as usual,
Your poet pal called
"Pete."
P.S.
Forgive me for what I have penned,
It's really meant in fun,
But if you won't believe me, then
I'd better start to run.
Comments: Although clearly target to a school newspaper editor, this poem resonates with anyone who has had to write to deadline.
My father's nickname was "Pete" - I never learned why.
