Once more, the end of working week draws nigh;
Again, we've not achieved all we might ask.
With paperwork and references piled high,
And still no better insight to the task.
Once more, the to-do list remains so long;
As usual, questions range from sane to mad.
Those asking do not realise they're wrong
Or maybe they're content to make us sad.
The hands of yonder clock crawl tortoise-slow,
The emails cluster, begging for reply,
The fax machine spits paper sheets of woe,
And mutters invite customers to die.
The tortured timescape of an afternoon;
It's Friday. We pray Saturday comes soon.
