People Poetry: The Boss

He walks in each day at nine
His files in his hand
He checks to see if work is fine
His presence is so grand

He's not a very handsome man
But he isn't really awful
For twenty years his business ran
And now he's quite successful

He makes his morning calls and such
And signs a few big checks
Authority? Yes he has much
Office gossiping? He wrecks

His ship is tightly run each day
And highly profitable
He runs his business his own way
And keeps things fairly stable

Each day at three o'clock he goes
To the golf course green
To shoot a round, everyone knows
Is where he's often seen

We roll our eyes and laugh a bit
At our boss, oh valian duffer
But for that privelige we all think
Twenty more years we'd suffer