Updated December 7, 1995 by Rebecca L. Eisenberg
Hello, and welcome to
This week's topic: Former Poetry About Very Mean Bosses ,
aka our tax dollars go to this Originally dated July 1,
1995, reissued in revised form December 7, 1995.
Another poem by rebecca lynn eisenberg, and
copywritten as such.
she told me that my very sight
i fell asleep at one key meeting
and when i asked her why she did not make
then, when her evil speech was done,
i dyed my hair, i tweaked my style
ah, now that i am free to skate,
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Copyright 1995 Rebecca Eisenberg mars@bossanova.com
she told me that i'm out of touch
by rebecca (still alive)
with reality and such.
she told me that i have no clue
of what's appropriate to do.
causes her to cringe in fright
because, although my writing's great,
my manner she had grown to hate.
and even though, we both were sitting
next to each other, in our chairs,
she thought to look at me or stare
would somehow implicate her in
my nap: my crime, my shame, my sin.
a sound, a tap, or nudge, to wake,
she snorted that my sad condition
had "immobilized her with humiliation."
i imagined that she'd pull a gun
to shoot me dead right there in chambers
and blame it on embarrassed fingers.
i cried on the phone once in a while,
but the thing that drove her most berserk,
was that i rollerbladed to work.
i sit and type and celebrate,
because i am closer to bliss,
now that i am free of gladys.