Poem #2: The Job Interview

(Note: The event recounted in this poem actually happened.)

I was sat at my desk when a colleague came by
And introduced me to a nervous young guy:
An interviewee for a vacant position,
See, this was just part of our office tradition:

That with the main part of the interview done,
They’d be shown round the office, to meet everyone.
The purpose of this was to give them a view
Of who we all are and what we all do.

And so I shook hands with this tense-looking chap,
Whose posture was stiff, as though needing a crap.
He seemed to relax as my colleague then asked
If I’d say a few words on my day-to-day tasks.

I turned in my chair, preparing to speak,
When I suddenly heard the most ominous squeak
The poor lad turned white and he looked broken-hearted,
As the reality dawned that he’d just loudly farted.

With barely a pause I launched into my speech,
Refusing to dwell on his shock anal breach,
But the damage was done, it was never enough
To keep everyone’s thoughts off his poorly-timed guff.

His error was clear: holding it in
Had led to his aperture becoming quite slim.
And instead of a soft one, released on the sly,
It sang loud and true, like a bird in the sky.

I finished my spiel, and the candidate left,
He held himself well, but was clearly bereft.
And my colleagues - professionals, down to a tee,
Left it unmentioned for almost a week.

If only my boss, upon hearing the fart,
Had thrust out a hand, and said “When can you start?”
But needless to say, it later transpired.
The flatulent lad was not going to be hired.

I hope he’s not scarred by what happened that day.
But if he still is, then I’d just like to say:
“If anything, mate, you should really give thanks
That you didn’t go further and shit in your pants”.