meet the new boss

i had a boss once,
when i worked in a cubicle,
that was shot
up
and left for dead
during the vietnam war.
he was from the south.
he survived though
swimming to a barge out
in the china sea.
he was riddled with bullet
scars,
and wounds
he wouldn't talk about.
one hand was stiff, the fingers
unmoving.
he'd eat a bowl of rice
for lunch in his office
with the door closed.
you could hear the chopsticks
clicking.
he was an angry man,
small in stature,
thick glasses, a cigarette
dangling in his
mouth at all times like
a Saigon gangster.
you know nothing, he used
to say to me.
nothing.
when will you ever learn
and stop being so american
lazy?
that was when he was having
a good day.