I showed up late.
Ten minutes, to be exact.
The suit sucking wind by the microphone
may just be what Mary Shelley
was warning us about,
though I suspect this guy also frightens
children.
A goatee in place of scars…
Hair plugs in place of neck bolts…
The Men’s Warehouse in place of fur and rags…
ALL
CONNECTED
BY A
circle (BLAH BLAH)
-->
square (BLAH BLAH BLAH)
-->
triangle (BLAH)
-->
the word “benefits” in magical friendly font
(Comic Sans?)
In between the words
“Security”
“Savings”
“Cancer”
“Voluntary”
“Disability”,
I begin to feel Nauseous.
Sick, in fact.
Ill.
So much, I wonder, “did he put on too much Brut?
Old Spice?”
Perhaps that tie combined with
my failing eyes
is fatal.
“Guidelines”
“Waiver”
“Open Enrollment”
Is this a last lunge forward?
A deathbed gasp wrapped in A4 paper
and stamped 13 times
“PRODUCT”
“PRODUCT”
“PRODUCT”…?
Did I actually hear the words “love” and “corporate”
in the same sentence?
Sorry pal.
Today, I’m just here
for a respite.
At most,
3 tri-fold pamphlets
that someone else
will have to clear from my desk
after I am gone.
