I have
a review
meeting
with my
Line Manager
tomorrow;
winding her up
last week
now seems
like a bad idea.
I know how
the game
is played;
last night
I walked her
to her car
because,
she was afraid
of going
to the poorly lit
car park
on her own,
where
she'd left it.
If that
doesn't work
in my favour,
I'll go to
plan B
(Whatever
that is.)
Written by my late son Oliver Collett.(1984-2014)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem