Let's imagine, shall we, that a perfectly (no, imperfectly) loyal and devoted proletarian were to ponder the buffetings of quotidian winds on the Merciless Sea of Mercantilism. Said unspecified Interlocutor (for the sake of argument) might, just might, compose the following litany (to what deity? divining what divinations? auguring what Oughtness?):
From unanswered emails and unacknowledged voicemails sent from too far down the pecking order,
Spare us, Lord (or Chairman, Capitain, Commandat, etc.).
From gibes and taunts and prods and pokes (consonant with and in direct proportion to praise's icy absence),
Deliver us.
From keeping score and losing faith,
Save us.
From acting as if we care,
Lead us.
From daring to act "as if,"
Transport us.
From calculating "worth,"
Rescue us.
From walking out the feckin door only to smile and leave them wondering why,
Say amen!
(Who knows? It is vaguely possible the Intrelocutor will have a more rewarding day tomorrow. But one should not assume it.)
