a memo:
for all of you whom the Fates forsook
who worked so hard your soulfingers hurt
deep in the bowels of the Mother Church
huddling together as Her foundations shook
quoting a Policy no man could possibly pervert
thru centuries of greed and holy war
condemning rock music and the liquor store
then killing the heathens you couldn't convert
you sent your prayers up to the Very Top Floor
slaving away with no card to punch
begging for manna on which to munch
imploring for help with your Divine Chore
genuflection may have bent your backs in a hunch
but your supplications have been overlooked
the fax machine is off the hook
and the Boss is out to lunch
Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-sure-knows-how-to-run-a-business/
