Probably the best office in the world …
Early today, two second commute, thanks to the teleport machine.
Off to the in-house office gym, in the hands of the masseuse team.
Every muscle manipulated in twenty minutes, a virtual marathon.
Now to my panoramic hot desk, that’s the morning now half gone.
Weirdly the IT man has asked if I am ok and if everything is still good.
I plug the left hand side of my brain in and it is working as it should.
The right hand side watches MI ten, perhaps it’s just one too many?
Tom, finally starting to look his age, took a while to drop that penny.
Now the news, company stock rises, making me a paper billionaire.
And Bieber has died destitute at thirty six, shame, honestly, I care.
To our Cocktail Lounge for lunch, Tapas and a few Long Island Ice teas.
The medical profession now agree, fifteen units for lunch is a good idea.
It’s gratifying, after all, to know I’ve been doing it right for all these years.
Now back to my desk, for a couple of hours kip, the end of the day nears.
Some diet, therapeutic Danish pastries are delivered to my desk at four.
Really I’m just building up the energy to head toward the exit door.
On the way out, an award, “most interesting bloke in the company”.
They didn’t need to do it, but after all, it’s got to go to somebody.
They’ve noticed all my experience and at sixty- five, I am still grooving.
And also all the time spent in the cocktail lounge, purposely self-improving.
The prize, rest of the year in St. Lucia, all work ties, to temporarily rescind.
Now to the teleporter, three seconds to get home, all due to a crosswind.
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This poem is narrated by Lorraine Ansell, a British female voiceover professional