rock out with your ad clock out

timesheets timesheets, why doth thou torture me so
with your dockets and numbers and complex codes?
you rudely expose my true calling as a creative ho,
paid to write enough silly lines to pave all life's roads.

my professional days are defined by billable time:
this week i've been assigned a good fifty seven hours,
to pen whiny self-indulgent little poems that rhyme,
i mean, clever one-liners about torque and horsepower.

so every monday i struggle with the formidable Ad-Clock
and pray that this week my time sheets don't get rejected
after all, along with all the brilliance and eurekas! and smart talk
a little (i mean, alot) of thumb-twiddling better be expected.