Ah, cold!
She lives her life in boxes,
Puts on a new hat to suit the clime -
Mother at home, shark at work,
Snake when she needs to be.
There’s no purpose to her existence,
Apart from money -
The glam clothes, the car, the house:
She wriggles and crawls to the top,
Then sits there, an empty, compliant face
Full of mean authority and fake bonhomie.
She’ll stab you in the back for nothing,
Go with the Big Man’s crowd,
Turn your words upon you and kill you with her contempt.
An easy game to play, corroding her from the inside:
She talks at times as if she understands,
But never makes the connection.
How do you deal with such raw greed?
It’s her intelligence that hides it,
And she’s far too skilled ….
There’s a type of woman with intelligence and a mean mind, unthinking, taking what authority and power she can, kiss up, kick down, sitting behind her desk mouthing the words of self-awareness but with nothing going on inside ….
