She's The Boss Poem by Len Webster

She's the boss. Purring, snaring
Many with that smiling, feline countenance.
She rubs her words against you
And licks her lips, a tiger waiting to pounce.
When SHE smiles near, everyone wonders
Who the victim will be.

Satire doesn't become her: sincerity is all.
She's a show-man in a circus,
But the impression can quickly pall.
Conceived a baby? 'Have it on your own time.
Expect no sympathy here. Have an extra duty.'
Said with that friendly, feline leer.

A smile contains a dagger; nail-polish hides a claw.
She attends the many meetings she's so eager to enthral;
Says what she wants, asks for comments;
Then lays down the law.

She's the boss. And she doesn't see the tree for the wood,
Doesn't see the bad or the mad from the good.
She's the boss. And you'd better believe it
If you don't want to be the one to fall
Prey to the big cat fangs
Instinctively obeying the primaeval jungle call.

She's the boss. Purring, snaring
Many with that smiling, feline countenance.
She rubs her words against you
And licks her lips like a tiger waiting to pounce.
When SHE smiles near, everyone wonders
Who the victim will be.
You can't escape:
Christ Almighty! This time the victim's me!




(c) Len Webster 1989