sometimes we’re
managed like a golden
family––close
together, keeping each other
warm, calmed by the
boss’s resonating
heart.
sometimes we’re
managed by a baseball
coach––who loves to
win, but loves his players
more. we play our
best & as a
team, no one
can ever beat
us.
sometimes we’re
managed like a hand
of cards––ordered by
strength, played
out for
power. expendable,
but no one really
cares.
& sometimes we’re
no more than a rack of
bowling pins & the
boss is that big, black
shiny ball raring to blast us
down, maybe out of
impatience, possibly
anxiety, most likely
just to prove who’s in
charge.