From Jon’s Book of Poetry, Entry #106, ‘Call In Sick Kinda Day’
It’s another sensational super sonnet from my voluminous works…
So blue the sky, so cool the air, so toasty is my slanket,
I reach out to the thermostat, I grab the knob and crank it.
And then I wonder as I sit why am I stuck inside,
Because if anybody sees me out they’ll know that I have lied.
This morning I called into work and told them I was sick,
I left a message for my boss with my co-worker, Dick.
I said to tell him that I called and thought that I might die,
So if I never come back they won’t have to wonder why.
And then I went back to my bed to catch a few more z’s,
Awakened by a call from Dick who said they want my keys,
“we have to let you go,” he said, “you need to bring them in,”
“you called in sick when you were not, you won’t do that again.”
“I’m really sick,” I told him, as I tried to cough and hack,
“I really didn’t lie, Dick, would you like a little snack?”
He didn’t take to kindly to my offer of some cake,
He knew that I was insincere and that my sickness, fake.
But wait, it all had been a dream, I’d really gone to work,
I’d really not called in at all, I’m really not a jerk.
I came in, sat down at my desk and dozed off like a fool,
And when the dream was over I woke up in a puddle of drool.