SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED

 

She bestrides the petty world like a transvestite;

broad shouldered, well made-up, in pinstripe suit,

and we, her project team, can’t get a thing right;

she regards us as the dirt upon her boot.

 

She asks us what we think - and then reminds us,

just so there’s no mistaking of our plan.

Corrects our every word and undermines us

and kicks us when we’re down, because she can.

 

For twenty-one long years I’ve lived this business

I used to make decisions on my own.

I wonder how we got ourselves in this mess

and let this gorgon turn us into stone.

 

If I’d a little doll made out of wax I’d

be sure to stick it full of hateful pins

I’d shove the biggest one into its backside

and twist it with a deeply evil grin.

The mills of God grind slowly, so said Shakespeare
but when they do, they grind exceeding small.
I've found that bullies always meet their fates here,
so she'll get her own come-uppance after all.