WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME LATELY?


Three cubicles away and to the left
The water cooler beckoned Albert Blah;
He saved the spreadsheet only halfway done
Maneuvered back upon his chair, but hah,
Around the corner came his nervous boss,
His hair askew, his mind so much ca-ca.
He headed right for Albert, eyes ablaze,
All Albert’s monthly figures, oom-pah-pah,
Gripped tightly in his fist, to shoulder raised,
A look of pained reproach, not ooh-la-la,
Thought Albert, Please do not deflate me…
The Boss: “What have you done for me lately?”

She typed and filed, talked into the phone
All day, her secretary skills displayed
To benefit the faceless company,
Her supervisor’s nonchalance dismayed
Even the manager, but personnel,
It being what it was, had long delayed
Initiating any action due
To age and tenure, which decayed
Ability to fire older staff,
Production costs, they said, could be defrayed.
Without a cost of living raise, she typed
And thought: “What have you done for me lately?”

A dozen years he managed at the helm,
His baseball teams were always in the fight,
They finished every season playoff bound,
Compared to others, they were at the height.
They won a Series, several pennants too,
But hitting in the clutch was not in sight
When most they needed extra RBIs,
Their boppers flopped, sometimes flied out to right,
Their pitching staff was aging past their prime,
The designated hitter lost his might.
The owner puffed his chest and sought clubhouse
Relief: “What have you done for me lately?”

The poet wrote his lines and carefully
Alliterated rhyming verse,
An ode to this, a sonnet after that,
His words selected so to be as terse
As he could explicate his inner urge;
The writing was a salve, a psychic nurse,
Massaged the outer edges of his mind,
Could make him high, or push him in reverse.
At times creation of his lonely lines
Could pummel him: bad iambs are a curse.
Behind his sagging shoulders peered his Muse
And sneered: “What have you done for me lately?”