Tonight's Poet Corner: Lying To My Boss
Lying To My Boss by Belinda Roddie It seems like a fever dream now: The unprovoked, self-contained mythology erupting from your tongue, the unprompted diatribe proclaiming your pseudo-preparation for the unexpected observation. Your knees shook, sweaty lips loose like the flaps of a manila envelope, fluttering as you crafted your shoddy self-defense against a non-existent assailant. You offered stale bread crumbs to someone who wasn't even hungry, and now you're paying the price for it like a cerebral hemorrhage. You weren't even good at lying. He knew you were full of shit almost immediately. He did amateur detective work, ran his investigation in the computer lab, and the seating chart you claimed to have created evaporated like water in a heat wave. Of course it turned into gas if it was never written on paper in the first place, or etched into a poor desktop's chest. Then he called you out for it: Wrote it in your evaluation, added the w