32.8 Poem by Phil Charters

32.8 years,
Ner'er a thought,
T'would end in tears
At ones desk
Doing as one does do,
When in she flew,
With her heart full of stones,
And her vacant eyes
She cared little for what I knew,
Or the work, that I do,
The corporate shrew
'Twas the money saved,
Her status raised,
In corporate eyes,
With ne'er good morning
Or a fond goodnight
For days that numbered two
Then, 'walk with me',
My fate I knew
With patronizing words, on cue,
A river of of worded spew
I was through,
Cut from the corporate state,
Thankless years
32.8