Tender

There was a time

we had functional alignment.

I was your individual

contributor, you my associate

director. On Monday

I said Happy Monday,

rolling my rimshot grin.

Ring-fenced

by cool molecules,

like cattle, I battled biosimilars,

sipped local gin;

I tried my luck at affairs

and trade fairs,

optimistic as a fantasy

suite. I inked the deal,

the ink slick

and permanent,

like President

Reagan. I didn’t sleep

unless I felt sick.

Something was always gated

on a fragile something.

Everything

on the critical path.

The whiteboard, cruel

as conceptual math,

scope creep

like a disease.

Some of those days,

our parent showed up,

bespoke shoes bearing Leckerli.

I felt like a starlet

on a cruisy backlot,

an outpost of opportunity.

I took on a new role,

went through the motions

and the typing pool.

But the bonus was no bonus,

any more than the bay.

Like tender, it started to fray.

My admin booked a good

weekend of atrocity. I winced.

I slid the To-Hurt folder below

a molecule’s Package Insert.

Then came the Efficiency

Report, my resignation.

I packed up the brood

for Orlando, a last resort.

I cut off my khaki pants

at the knee, traded in the wife —

this is the Epcot Center of my life!

I want to thank you in advance.

I’d fallen out of favor, like a nation.