I know a very nice lady

named Kriss 

and for twelve years

her days went like this.

Wide awake at three;

the first to arise.

Then pick up George,

dead or alive.

Fly down one eleven

to twenty eight,

doing a little under seventy,

can't be late.

Arrive at five in

the morning gloom,

right in the front

she parks her broom.

George is still shaking

from the ride;

Kriss must have St. Peter

on her side.

Kriss is still

hanging loose,

as she opens up the

old Red Caboose.

Then she screams at George

to wake him up.

Then she makes three

pots of coffee

and has herself a cup.

Smiles when customers

come in;

after six we are lucky

to get a grin.

Pat came in so it

must be eight 

because I know she is

never late.

"Watch out you don't

hit my new car"

and "You put out that

damned cigar".

Millie where is that 

bowl of soup?

I get so damn mad

I could shoot!

Clean the cream dispenser 

and the grill,

maybe I better stop

and take another pill.

I better go home

here comes the moon.

Now where the hell did I park my broom?