The office was slow on Friday,

so Saturday we joined a war.

The CEO and HR were arguing

over who got to print money

in the break room,

but both knew that there’s profit in war,

so they marched us unwillingly

into business not our own

to plug the holes in a sinking ship

with our bodies.

They said peace is born from battle,

but doesn’t it sound strange to say

we have to search and destroy

to progress and prosper?

There was peace a year ago

in the civil conflict of

red malice versus blue apathy,

but

maybe there was too much peace

in that stagnant economy,

where our biggest concerns were

five-dollar gas and five-dollar tax returns

not

which cities are targets

and

what’s the radius of a nuclear blast.

Our bickering over

pronouns and the price of eggs

turned us blind to fear tactics,

and we covered our ears

to ignore each other

only to miss

the dogwhistles along the way.

So, we let a limo driver felon

with a DUI

and eleven points on his license

take the helm of our ship

and steer us straight into an iceberg.

Now the ship is sinking faster

and the rich are getting richer

while the poor pile their bodies

in front of gaping holes in the hull.

The CEO fired HR for disagreeing

with his purchase of a rusty

money-printing machine—

the same make and model

bought by the previous CEO,

and the one before him,

and the one before him,

and the one before him.

But egg prices dropped a dime,

so you got what you voted for.

Anyway,

the office was slow today,

but they served us steak and lobster

to boost morale.

My PTO request got denied,

so I’ll see you tomorrow

on the frontlines.