Today I’m strutting down Queen Street
and the mannequins and the billboard models
they’re looking at me
‘cause I’m twenty-one days
to man-overboard status and learning to swim.
I’m a resume printed on thick company letterhead.
I’m a buried treasure chest of stolen office supplies.
my answers, handshake, dramatic exit.
I’m a bitten tongue, a lit match hungry for bridges.
I’m a shot of vodka you gargle on a late lunch
to wash the office shit talk off your breath.
Friday lunch on Queen Street West by Sookie
Ever fantasize about burning a bridge? Not literally! I mean making a dramatic exit in which you irreparably destroy your relationship with a lover, friend, boss, etc., but it feels sooo worth it. Ever actually done it?