By Bruce E. Stoker 2003
Whose desk is this? I stop to stare.
His name is on the name plate there.
He won ?t complain to anyone
About this pile of work to spare.
The janitor must think it fun
To see me stick just anyone
With tons of work from my own pile
So I can go soak up some sun.
He wags his finger for a while
Then asks me with a wary smile,
?You think the boss will never know
Your work ?s done through deceit and guile
?I suppose he could, if you know.
Just how far will a fifty go?
If you ?ll keep quiet, he ?ll never know.
Now just keep quiet; he ?ll never know. ?