A List Poem for Quitting my Job

The “senior team” was never a team at all;
merely a collection of individuals each pulling in their own direction,
for their own agenda.
We rarely even held the same rope.

My boss,
who hated being called “boss”,
but acted so much like a boss,
with his huffing
and puffing,
and blowing at houses.
All that turbulence was bad for my health.

by the whispers of the chattering class.
from spinning the damage control machine.

I snuck out the back door
and hailed a taxi for my freedom.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: