www.original-wit.net © 2017 by Steve Taite

Office Tennis

Game

I got to work one morning
Around a quarter to ten.
I sipped my coffee, read my Inbox,
And it was that then
I could feel a funny itching
From beneath my clothes.
Then I realized a fly had squatted
On my nose.

I tried to swat it with my backhand,
Blot it with my forehand
Chase it to the door and
Make my name.
But it kept returning all my serves.
Was really getting on my nerves,
And no matter how I swerved
I knew I’d lost the game.

Set
The Internet will tell you
Flies live no more than a day.
So next morning when I spied him
My new gained confidence flew away.
He was ready for a new set
But I had come in armed.
With a swatter and a fly gun
I hoped to do him harm.

I tried to swat it with my backhand,
Blot it with my forehand
Chase it to the door and end
This cruel duet.
But it kept returning all my serves.
Was really getting on my nerves,
And no matter how I swerved
I knew I’d lost the set.

Match
On the third morn I was wiser,
I brought in expert seeds.
Professors Williams, Krumm and Henin
From the Fly Busters league.
Equipped with racquets, balls and swatters
They looked like quite a catch.
And it was blood that they were seeking
As they closed the match.

They tried to swat it playing backhand.
Blot it dead with forehand.
Smear it on the door and let him die.
Though it braved through every Ace
The fly was doomed to second base
And by match-end there was no place
For a champion fly.

Aftermath

I couldn’t hide a grin
As next day I hurried in
Because there’s nothing like a win
To help you start your day.
But I’d spoken far too soon
And I almost took a swoon
As I saw a whole platoon
Of flies awaiting in my tray.