a day late for the two weeks notice
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the two weeks notice,
arrived a day late,
or at least it would have,
had the boss man,
took the time to lsiten to one of the many,
of the few underlings,
on which he built his corner office atop.
for one member of the peons,
the day of reckoning had come a day early,
the boss man preparing to distribute the yearly reviews,
so-called "progress reports,"
containing colorful graphs and charts,
a stack upon the peon's desk.
for who had been designated to
proofread,
retype,
and become the eventual bearer of the bad news,
was none other than she.
with sudden wit and complete abandonment loyalty,
to her 9-5 warden,
she promoted the entire stack,
proofread,
retyped,
and designated herself to be
the eventual bearer of the best of news.
the peon took the long way home that night,
knowing she would only have to make this trip nine more times.
and two weeks later,
when not a single check reflected a stack of promotions,
the thought-to-be promotees climbed the 20 flights,
to gather in front of a large corner office,
and demand explanation.
the boss man emerged to say nothing,
but held out a piece of paper,
that had clearly been
proofread,
retyped,
and self-designated by the peon to be distributed to the boss man,
the promotees read aloud our heroine's two weeks notice,
as if receiting a passage of sacred scripture,
and the peon smiled to herself,
already on her way home for the last time.
Slinking back into his 21st floor human vault,
with nothing but his disbelief
at the betrayal of one assumed to be pushed so far down beneath his foot,
and under his thumb,
so recently 20 floors below,
but no longer,
he searched in panic for the cloud thought reserved for his judgment,
for the rapture of the cubicles,
cast down on his whim.
Her empty desk that Friday afternoon,
offered him no vessel to empty the wrath he had prepared,
Monday morning,
two papers on his empty desk less a few awards and pictures of himself,
laid a demotion for him,
and a two week's notice he'd received,
a day late for him,
and right on time for her.
arrived a day late,
or at least it would have,
had the boss man,
took the time to lsiten to one of the many,
of the few underlings,
on which he built his corner office atop.
for one member of the peons,
the day of reckoning had come a day early,
the boss man preparing to distribute the yearly reviews,
so-called "progress reports,"
containing colorful graphs and charts,
a stack upon the peon's desk.
for who had been designated to
proofread,
retype,
and become the eventual bearer of the bad news,
was none other than she.
with sudden wit and complete abandonment loyalty,
to her 9-5 warden,
she promoted the entire stack,
proofread,
retyped,
and designated herself to be
the eventual bearer of the best of news.
the peon took the long way home that night,
knowing she would only have to make this trip nine more times.
and two weeks later,
when not a single check reflected a stack of promotions,
the thought-to-be promotees climbed the 20 flights,
to gather in front of a large corner office,
and demand explanation.
the boss man emerged to say nothing,
but held out a piece of paper,
that had clearly been
proofread,
retyped,
and self-designated by the peon to be distributed to the boss man,
the promotees read aloud our heroine's two weeks notice,
as if receiting a passage of sacred scripture,
and the peon smiled to herself,
already on her way home for the last time.
Slinking back into his 21st floor human vault,
with nothing but his disbelief
at the betrayal of one assumed to be pushed so far down beneath his foot,
and under his thumb,
so recently 20 floors below,
but no longer,
he searched in panic for the cloud thought reserved for his judgment,
for the rapture of the cubicles,
cast down on his whim.
Her empty desk that Friday afternoon,
offered him no vessel to empty the wrath he had prepared,
Monday morning,
two papers on his empty desk less a few awards and pictures of himself,
laid a demotion for him,
and a two week's notice he'd received,
a day late for him,
and right on time for her.