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.

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

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