Poem: The Secretary Rant

The Secretary Rant

From where I sit, nothing much gets done unless

it lands on my desk. “Hon, make 100 copies of this agenda.”

“File these reports.” I try to hide the fact that my files

are permanently scrambled. “Don’t forget the coffee.”

They can’t even clean up after themselves, dirty coffee cups, 

waded napkins. I wonder if after Mr. Director stands to blows

with Mr. CEO do they sit beside each other in bathroom stalls

while the air in here is still punctuated with their curse words.

Do they talk to each other with civility. Over what? Minutiae?

“See the Reds and Cardinals Saturday?” And then one emission

after another leaves them with a choice: either pick up the fight

or just give themselves over to the smelly silence of sanitation

swirling down the commode chute.

Either way I know my place is behind my desk

and I watch the entire circus from where I sit.

                    By: Patty Cole                                 

4/23/19