Poem: The Firing, Liberally Commented
It is the beginning of April, 100 score and 9.
“Come with us.”
Pulling me from my work, confusion and apathy warring.
“We’re letting you go.”
Forget to breathe.
Is this a joke?
“We’re letting you go.
You haven’t met our [impossible] standards, [even though we said you were].”
Details are explained, though my health has never really been their concern.
“I know it doesn’t mean much, coming from me, but I’m sorry.”
Venomous, desperate, the wounded manticore strikes:
“You’re right, [asshat], it means
coming from you. This is shitty.”
I know you feel guilt,
somewhere in the slime.
You’ll find no solace here.
I gather my things,
wrap them up in what dignity I have left,
and call for help from my sister.
They rid themselves of
Still performing illegal acts,
still as ethical as Bluebeard.
I am better off where I am,
down the road,
where my work and person are
I have not been inspired of late, so Poem-A-Day is something I will try again later. In the mean time, other things that crop up will be posted.