Yer Late, Conciatu!
The Poetry Bus is having a meeting today. At least that is the subject of our poem. Our Bus Driver, Argento, has no idea of the post traumatic stress this request brought to the surface.
So, that's why I'm late. Had to hide under my pillow. Turn my calendar to the wall. Stay in my pajamas as I recalled the endless assault of crammed conference rooms, droning overhead machines, simpering bosses toadies, boastful do-nothings. And limp lettuce lunches. Kabuki Theater at its best. But I did it. Now I just need a hot bath and a cold beverage. Straight up.
I wanna be here!
But I'm here:
The Meeting
I am held captive
Crammed
into Conference Room B
Frozen
by "suitcoat" temperatures
Wedged
between pinstriped arms
Wired
to the internet
Flooded
with flow charts
Filled to overflowing
with pie charts
Buzzed
by endless over-heads
The only minutes that seem to pass
are those kept by the admin
Cynthia Ann Conciatu
The Meeting
I am held captive
Crammed
into Conference Room B
Frozen
by "suitcoat" temperatures
Wedged
between pinstriped arms
Wired
to the internet
Flooded
with flow charts
Filled to overflowing
with pie charts
Buzzed
by endless over-heads
The only minutes that seem to pass
are those kept by the admin
Cynthia Ann Conciatu
Meeting Minutes of the Third Kind
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4 comments:
Oh, I hear you, Cynthia! I despised those meetings and especially the "do-nothings". Love that last line - excellent!
Kat
P.S. The dude in shades in your followers (no. 2 from top left) is a spammer. Dump him on his keester!
Thanks for the spammer info!!!
Oooh, I've been to this kind of meeting too. I used to work with a chap who always fell asleep in meetings - a wise decision, methinks - and he never got fired.
I shall be thinking about the pie charts in my next meeting. If I'm caught sniggering, I'm blaming you!
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