in the office
that we called
the executioner.
if you saw her coming
up the hall,
you shivered with fear,
was this the day
they saw right through you,
that you didn't have
a clue, numbly shuffling
papers at your desk
for eight hours.
did they at last find out
that the only thing you cared
about was coffee in
the morning, chit chat,
lunch, then happy hour
when the clock struck five?
and then, the soft knock
on the cubicle came.
grab your belongings,
my friend, she'd say,
today is your last day.
give me your badge and parking
pass. good luck,
oh, and leave the stapler.
No comments:
Post a Comment