3WW - Apology, Consider, Distant
He got off his bike and dashed to the facade of his work-house;
House, yes, he spent most of his time there keeping at
carving a place for himself in the corporate history,
to be known, to be seen, even from the moon...
His jog stance hardly matched his striking black formal suit
Otherwise a sucker for class, he could not thwart
the rather clumsy verb he was then indulged in
With only about five minutes to get to his office swipe point
style or even a drift that way seemed distant
He ignored the elevator and hopped up the stairs
Zipped past the receptionist, not forgetting to flash a smile
It was his way of expressing thanks to the silent,
amused one-man audience of his everyday nick-of-time drama
He skid to a stop at the door, knowing as he swiped
that all the tussle had been in vain, a speculator that he was,
by profession and now, out of a recessive kip,
late. By a cascaded minute; ‘Damn!!!!’ he whined, stopping abruptly
as if he would continue tomorrow..
He walked in, anyway; actually, that being the only way
With his feet not on the ground, almost
He got to his workstation in inconspicuous strides
a couple of minutes to settle in, to boot
For the next long minute he considered how his toil for identity
despite his versatility, people person-ness et al
was sidestepped by this period of effortless foot dragging.
He raised his bottle like a ritual and gulped down the water ,
feeling it slide down his throat, wetting the dryness
caused by a moisture less apology that was strewn by guilt
flushing down the vice that won today, again
in the race seeking to win the identity crisis;
the go-getter in him was NOT going to be known as the latecomer.
