Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Poem: The Exit Clause

It is with great regret
that I must inform you,
I quit,
I give up,
I resign,
from the career
of my life.

My desk has been cleaned out,
a wooden box holds my affairs;
trinkets of my history,
to be buried or burned…
whichever is more fitting.
Never to be remembered,
For my poor performance.

My supervisors,
my subordinates,
my peers, all agree,
I can be well replaced,
by the next in line.
One call to Human Resources,
I’m sure will yield plenty!

This corporate ladder
Has no more rungs for me.
Gone are the days
of upward mobility.
All that is left
is a spiraling decline…
my moral bankruptcy.

No need of severance pay…
I’ve no one to support,
I’ve nothing to maintain.
As you very well see,
there is no real reason
for me to hang on,
persist, or remain.

I did not meet my quota;
did not give a stellar presentation;
nor gain any appreciation.
Not a team player.
Not a go-getter.
And certainly not living up to
my full potential.

As I see myself out,
I’ll be sure to turn off the lights,
and to close the door behind me.
But most of all, don’t you worry
about the state of the company…
I am quite confident,
it will strive without me.

~Sir William Welles (12/6/11)

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