(Thanks, Kelli, for the idea.)
You Are Not Your Salary
But you are the pens, the paper,
the report due yesterday
with its charts and figures,
You’re the tilting desk
that no one, not even you,
bothers to fix. Take a swig
of burnt coffee and get to it.
You fix things, you buy things,
you’re a connector, a decider,
you find mistakes in reports buried
like gems in the coal mines of words.
You are also the banter, the fodder,
the guffaw in the corner office,
the high five and the back slap.
You’re the secret knowledge
that you’re the only one here
who has a clue. How quickly
the hours move as you buy time.
Some days, you’re a wealth of information
in a economy of scale. On others,
you’re the artificial sun of florescent lights
shining overhead. That being said,
you are not your salary, you never will be.
You are the window overlooking
the golf course and the happy golfers
hitting balls into oblivion.