I’m out of sorts.

I’m out of sorts
I have to say.
Oh, I still work
They send me pay
and maybe that’s the root
But nay.
I’ve worked all day
again, but nay
I’ve done but six hours
For my pay.
The hours that
I said I’d do
and management
agreed it too
but when I logged off
after six
I felt the nothingness
the nix.
I have to say
I’m out of sorts.
I went t’pub
and three pints downed
and after time
I came around
but slowly, slowly
fell away
the cares and tumults
of the day.
A double Southern
comfort gave
and conversations
that’s the game.
Bar room repartee
not tame
but that’s the MO
that’s the name
of the bar room
chatting game.
And cares withdrew
from some to naught
and magically
the sorts I lacked
all one by one
came swimming back.

Out of sorts I was, out of sorts.
Dunno why, it’s just the way the cookie crumbled today.
A few bevvies and some pub patois and all’s well,
well, better than it was.
Please drink responsibly;
the composing of poems however may be a little less circumspect.