Complaints

There’s nobody except a saint
Who never utters a complaint
Though there are those who seem to thrive
On kvetching to keep them alive.

“The chair’s too low, the waiter’s rude
And do not ask about the food!
The light’s too dim, the doctor’s mean;
The bathroom’s never really clean…”

The list is endless for, of course,
Complaints can come from any source;
But sometimes I’d just like to hide
From people never satisfied.

They’d hang their heads in true defeat,
Their day not really quite complete,
If fault could not be quickly found
That they could broadcast all around.

The rest of us must bear the brunt
Of every moan or tsk or grunt;
But look at me – I’m not abstaining –
Carping ‘bout the ones complaining!