A poem

Robb Greene - VP of Real Estate/Poetry

Dec 23rd, 2019


‘Twas the Monday before Christmas, when all through the office,
Not an employee was working, nor focused on profits;
Dishes were piled in sinks without care,
And break room fridge empty, evoking despair;
The accountants were nestled all snug at their desks,
S’many visions of spreadsheets, ’twas almost grotesque;
And Donna in her pantsuit, and I in my khakis,
Two growling stomachs craving Yuletide lunch snackies;
When out of my inbox there arose such a clatter,
A Hot Chicken email, dipp’d zestily in batter;
The words they did stir me like poetry, music, and prose,
Though, the most mem’rable stanza shared half-off promos;
xmasweek50 I copied with glee,
As with all marketing emails, “What’s in it for me?”

Away to my browser I flew like a flash,
Pounded ‘Order Now,’ shouting “Please, take my cash!”
The menu was glistening, like new-fallen snow,
Salads, Burgers, and Wraps. Perhaps a ta-co?
When what to my hungering eyes did appear,
But that hot chicken sandwich with heat so severe;
I added to cart, tap-tap, then ‘submit,’
I knew in an instant this meal would be lit;
More rapid than eagles Chef Tim he did cook,
An order so grand, the kitchen it shook;
“Now, Tacos! Now, Burgers! We’ve sauces to thicken!
On, line cooks! On, fry cooks! Now, dip that Hot Chicken!
Now cooked? To courier! Hustle, don’t crawl!
Now dash away, courier! No time for a loll!”

Away in a Nissan, Courier Ken he did fly,
Software so seamless tears formed in my eye;
The text message comes! I’m now bounding down stairs,
To meet trusty Ken, an answer to prayers;
So up to the curb, Courier Ken he then flew,
A Nissan full o’ food, and cutlery, too—
And Ken with a twinkle said, “Hi, here’s your order!”
A bag full of goodies we’d all soon devour;
But as I drew in my head, and was turning around,
The Nissan took flight! Lo, straight off the ground!
And back up the steps, the bag now in hand,
Our hot, fresh group order cooked on-demand.

That spicy aroma burned straight through the bag,
So, juicy, so saucy, need I a bib or a rag?
The office assembled, like wolves ‘round their prey,
One last team lunch, before Christmas Day;
And, that Chicken? So fiery. It burned in my joints,
But, with five of us ordering, that’s mad ClusterPoints;
And nodding to Donna, I pushed back from the table,
Typed an Out of Office response, and then clicked ‘enable;’
And as we departed, bidding season’s good luck,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to you, ClusterTruck!”