It is National Poetry Day. Here is my contribution especially for anyone (male or female) who has suffered in a totalitarian work environment.
Hope you like it! Poetry is such a great way to express imaginative ideas.
Justice at work
As the bullies come near in the playground
I go quiet, neutral.
Skirt length unremarkable, occupied
Don’t catch their eye
Hold my breath, wishing
myself into the brick wall
While my friend more reckless
returns the stare, sticks out her tongue
and runs off laughing
Miraculously unscathed.
In the very important meeting
With the very important customer
the gang leader
takes credit for my report, my analysis, my concept.
I freeze.
Guilt shame confusion.
Six years old inside my
Adult body – not too geeky
Not too gorgeous. Unremarkable.
Why can’t I be like my friend!
Suddenly I need to throw
the fat smug bastard
through the sixteenth storey window
hoist with his own glass shard.
I need to ram the biros down
passive throats
tear my report into confetti,
stuff it into every orifice
celebrate!
So I make an innocent but
intelligent remark
in a variety of ways
relentlessly
persuasively
until they eventually
get it.
The power in the room shifts, creaks.
The mast of superiority re-angled
Over our flagship idea.
They’re groaning and dying from paper wound
Fountain pen poisoning
Laptop leprosy.
Slumped across desks, rigor mortis
Set in mid-sip
“No sugar dear
must watch the weight” still in the air
not swallowed.
While the icy wind knifes round
the room through the crazed
discordant hole where no crack is permitted
in toughened glass.
I walk on devastation
In my red stilettos
Fish net tights
Frothy skirt
Tailored jacket
Laughing
till I am dancing
on the board room table.
Me and my magic marker
return it all to order
Without sideways glance
or heartbeat missed.
Space is made for me.
I’ve made a difference
To me.
my peace is a piece of me
top of my agenda
none of their
business.
Me and my best friend run off
giggling
to blow raspberries
with our bubblegum
and leave ‘em standing.
© Jean Wolfe
A picture paints a 1000 words??? Who need it with Jean’s phenominal evocation of the past trying to trample the present.