Friday, August 29, 2014

Workplace Poem #1

As the vultures circle the cubicles,
alighting now and then to pick
at the remains of a career,
I watch the living stagger about
trying not to stare at the walking dead
lurching past.

They superstitiously clutch their talismans,
project plans in progress and
fifteen years of service badges,
in the hope that they are immune to the plague
while their neighbors steadily fill
cardboard coffins.

And as the day's end nears and the few still standing
struggle with the guilt of survival,
I think I have made it. But then the chime,
the call of Gabe in HR,
and I begin the slow march to the
conference room.

[written and posted to Facebook quite a while back]

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