Brother, Do You Feel Me?

photo @ mark seliger

Brother, Do You Feel Me?

“A word to the wise ain’t necessary, it’s the stupid

ones that need the advice.”--Bill Cosby.

I can dig it, for you

         get it that there are milestones

                  in all our vocational careers, when we

                                 were forced to push the employee envelope,

                  & with pride we recall how we took it effortlessly

          to the next level, blowing the admin argyles off,

& just before we raised, then planted our flag,

after a bout of LOL,

we bent over & presented the new moon

                  as a complex disguised disruptive innovation;

all the while those corporate-clone boss-ass bitches

                              be saying, There is no “I” in team,

                              & laying down that rancid line of BS

                              as thick as a brick, but what really funnels down

                                                 after you break through the clutter,

                                                 IIRC, is none of those A-holes

have an adequate knowledge base themselves;

                               their only real leverage is residency

                                                 in the corner office, as they advocate

for sweat equity instead of a fair dollar appropriate compensation,

& even tho, Yo, I may not be the one

to bring the elephant to the party, everyone knows that

             their lame-ass attempts to incentivize

             are just the lip gloss on the sticking post,

                   just the SOS on a different day, with a

                                                different wrapper, but still

possessing the same odefourous pungent wonderfulness--

which always spikes my BP,

                      chaps my cheeks, because 

                      I am the real deal,

                      I put it out there 24/7,

                      I live outside the box, running raw & rogue,

                              only honoring the most strategic of alliances,

                              never blowing my own bugle, moving

the damn goalposts when necessary, promulgating as much truth

as the project will bear, always aware of the cloud cover while

trying to by God avoid that blue-sky thinking, just

                               pretending to be proactive, mumbling

                                         10/4 while thinking FU, because

company men, as a general rule, collectively as a group,

               get hung up on circular speculation, using confusing

               government or corporate-speak, always rebranding;

I swear to Jesus, they would not

recognize an original thought

if it entered their various ignorant orifices 

with fresh teeth clanking & clarion voice overrides, while

               they tell you they are available for face time,

               that their door is always open, even as

               they calibrate their escape strategy, preaching

brotherhood, family, fellowship

               while practicing good old boy cronyism, 

                                         sad sexism,

                                         robust racism &

                                         diligent dishonesty. 

At the end of the day my attention span goes AWOL

as I imagine launching a SAM into the board room

                to eradicate the hypocrisy, while allowing

                            my own perception of

                            my own empowerment off the leash,

                                          streamlining 

                            my angst, exorcising

                            my rage, as I force a Cheser-cat smile

                 & just pretend to put my shoulder to the wheel,

                 march in obedient lock-step,

give sweet lip service to the holistic approach, &

                 continue to salute perfectly when

                 it is my turn on the runway,               & I feel no remorse,

                                                for the great apes in the eagle’s nest

busily planning their next intervention,

                         their next misrepresentation,

                         their next lay-off, lie, or manipulation, they

will always be guilty of FTP,

                         to fess-up,

                         to give it to us straight instead of through

chaotic circumnavigation, forever avoiding

                          or dismissing the FAQ.

I mean, IANAL, & I don’t often stand on my soapbox,

but my clearest goal while laboring

in the trenches, was to just make it lunch,

                                 to get through the day,

                                                        the week

                                                         the month, the year,

then snag my annual bonus, prop up my calendar,

                                              plan my vacation, & then start again,

chipping away at the decades,

put in my Fifty & exit on two feet stage right before

                                              my carcass assumed room temperature.

BTW, FYI, I HTH, & I do promise to SYA,

as you practice CYA.

because before you know it,

you will be joining me in the ranks of AOU, 

             as a retiree, & you will take ownership

             of the time you have left; & may it be

                               a long pole rather than a short stump. So

my free advice, worth what you pay for it, 

             is to get busy & calibrate your expectations

                 to match my own, so that you can efficiently organize

                                your new Permanent Duty Station.

I do promise to honor the proposed dividend,

& meet you on Thursday mornings at IHOP

for commiseration & swapping of war stories.

TTYL, & remember to squeeze it easy. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?