Not trying to be whiny or anything
only expressing revolt
over the changes at work
that have literally pushed me
into a corner next to the exit by the stairs

After five years it kind of hurts that
perhaps in the swirling eddy
making up the boss’s stream of memory
I’m just a floater
blocking the more pleasant view of his company’s progress 
toward an unobstructed sea 

If I were brutal and caustic, I would fantasize
that he is trying to airbrush his reality  
dabbling only with paints
already pale,
that can easily blend into his landscape 

Or he’s making a stew with no seasoning
out of fear he won’t care for its savor
I percolate as a readily identifiable ingredient 
lest I disappear altogether

Everybody wants a part that has some substance
even if it consists of only carrying a spear
I’m in peril of not only having no spear to carry
I’m passing folks their spears
pack-mule at the picnic 

A place on the periphery doesn’t signify small
I forget the guy’s name, but we were a couple of cockneys
downstage right—our bit through the whole scene
was actually giving the director warm fuzzies  
we didn’t even know until he complemented us
‘Just enough’ he said

I don’t have an issue with surprises
I like a random phone call from a casting director
same as the next guy
cold reading for a different role at the callback
or stepping into a last-minute costume at dress

But it’s not funny at work
new building, new commute, new hires
they’re running out of space for us already
every day is a surprise
rearrangement both physical and mental,
senior staff pretzeled into my territory
telling me which chairs I should order
for somebody else’s butt  

Gimme back my spear