Leave My Desk Alone, Guys

Anger written all over my face,
I’m sat behind my desk.
nothing left in the correct place
it is getting grotesque.

My pens and pencils are missing,
unread letters in the ‘out’,
I can feel my rage now hissing
but still I do not shout.

Then I saw my precious easel
lying there on the floor
like an over used, worn plimsol
my nerves can take no more.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.