Poem 18 – The Managers message.

My phone weeps,
Ominously crying out a warning,
Something haunting,
A gripping stress,
Passive aggressive at best,
Or at least,
A feast of fear for my brain to alarmingly gorge upon,
The message is all about the return of one,
One that leads,
But instead bleeds a heavy burden all of its own,

I’m not ill anymore it speaks,
But I have alot of work for you this week,
I know you’re off,
And so you shall be on,
No matter what plans you have,
Or where you have gone,
Heal to me,
Heal and know thy service is mandatory,
No rest for your wretched soul,
Work work work work work,
Scan this,
Move that,
Paper work do,
Oops I forgot to tell them that,

In this working world so small,
The manager returns to reign over them all,
My phone weeps,


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