Marcy Warky Schroedery Grout

My friend wrote this poem about me to the tune of Shel Silversteins poem, Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout, after I let the recycling in my cube overflow the bin.

He would not take the recycling out.
And from the box the cans did spout
And they fell on the floor all about.
Then Todd began to fume and pout.
But still Marcy Warky would
not take the recycling out.

Cans coke and mountain dew.
Diet pepsi, at least a few.
Old Indian food boxes and Wasabi snacks.
Tea and chocolate and 7up.
Brisk iced tea and that’s not all.
A few dried fruit cartons crumpled in a ball.

All these things were strewn about.
Ann Marie and Karin were both grossed out.
They said to Marcy, take that stuff away far!
Or we’ll take our case right to HR,
And tell Joe and Misti you’re bad and lazy
and so much more (maybe a little crazy).
And then you’ll have to find work in a store.
Like WalMart or KMart, or even Frys.
Sports Chalet, Ashoka, Super Sergios
will bring tears to your eyes.

And so Marc finally wised up,
and went to get rid of the stuff.
But when he tried to lift it, his
strength wasn’t enough.
He hurt his back and now sits sort of funny.
And so Marc sits today, freaked out and all stressy.
Under a pile of recycling because he was messy.


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