Nose Poker

We all have at work, this joker

Who, in every conversation, wants exposure

I do not know, if he is the office chat controller

Better I feel he is kind of a mishap bipolar

There is one thing he lacks; manners

Always cropping in talks, like spammers

Once Mary grew sick of his lammers

Thanks we calmed her before enclenched slaughters

In computerised terms, he is a trojan back door

Close one entry, he will poke from another core

Like ants for sweets, he is mad for chats; more

Keep silence, else the poker would show encore

I wonder if his conscience condones him

For being such a crap, a mannerless vim

Who is set to intrude like a bot crim

Happily and daily poking, in all its him