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A Thousand Pounds Of . . .

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A Thousand Pounds Of . . .
©copyright 2005 Bonita M Quesinberry, R.C.


At eighteen I'd landed a job with the city of L. A.
working steady in their purchasing department.
Ev'ry day I could type a hundred-twenty words per minute,
quickly churning out orders without one lament.

Very soon, though, it was time for me to return to Texas;
so, on that last day I prepared my last request:
a tasty breakfast item for the local jail's prisoners.
Ah, hot oatmeal with toast makes a bad day the best.

Two weeks later, I received my final paycheck with a note;
seems I left behind my boss and friends in stitches,
for I had purchased a whopping thousand pounds of rolled CATS.
Even the inmates almost peed in their britches!


Author notes

I still haven't figured out how I hit a C, when the O is on the opposite side of the keyboard! Oh, well, breakfast surely would have been interesting. Now that I think of it, though, it could have been that French typewriter-- something got lost in the translation?

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As the Lord says, "Laughter is medicine to the bones." There is humor in everything, if we look for it!

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