I lay awake at a God forsaken hour,
Wondering about my next job,
Reminiscing the serendipities du jour,
And foibles of the white-collared mob.

What was my last success?
Could it be defined by a moment?
Or a series of judgements meted out by a caucus?
Nothing kills twice over than an ill-conceived cogent.

Now as I sit for potty,
Thanking God for my sphincter,
I can think of something naughty,
To luminesce my manager’s spectre.

What makes this person an overlord?
Is it all byte and hot air?
Should I thank whichever God?
For all is not gloom and despair.

Having emptied my bowel,
I can envision clearly.
Struggling in the dark for a towel,
Foolishness could cost dearly.

Hence I return to bed,
All wet and chilled,
Dreaming of speaking at TED,
For nobody deserves to be killed.