Defeated Within Her Warmongering
Her violent temperament the weapon of choice
The air in the room is frozen, humidly heated,
As she waltzes in through the door, her face haunting,
Built for stress, experienced in the fight,
Wary of her adversary, she begins taunting.
***
“Who will be the problem and not the solution we need,
The one that needs to be slotted into a corner to wait,
Hearing out my arguments, the possibilities,
Before you have your chance to offer debate?”
***
Today’s not the day to measure her arrogance,
It’s obvious she’s prepared for the war path,
Her research completed, she knows you better than yourself,
Beware, you’ve no idea of the depth of her wrath.
***
She says little when you make those minor errors,
But deliberately putting up your boxing fists,
Antagonising her into showing her anger,
There’s no amount of forgiveness that exists.
***
Tomorrow may be a better alternative,
Time to reflect is your greatest defence,
Deciding you’ve overreacted as has been suggested,
Will highlight the wisdom of your common sense.
***
Stand down if you don’t wish to find regrets,
The only outcome of your horrid decisions today,
Wave the white flag, it’s your best bet,
It’s the only sensible solution, rather that all you’d say.
***
Smile, break the tension, lower your heart rate,
As the forecast of pain and suffering will down size,
The day will improve, you’ll breathe a sigh of release,
And you’ll learn the benefits of being street wise.
***
She sweeps her eyes around the room,
Piercing each person with her steely gaze,
Waiting on the outcomes of each decision,
Her arrogantly heated temper still ablaze.
***
Not a word is to be said, heads have now bowed,
Again she holds still, waiting until she is perfectly sure,
The tension broken, the steam defused,
She turns and walks back out the door.
***
We sit with an explosive breath of relief,
Our heads have been saved for one more day,
Smiles gradually adorn our sweaty faces,
Knowing the different tempers could have led all astray.
***
She saunters down the hallway,
Pleased with those who’d woken to their foolishness,
It could have gone differently, a full blown war,
With her being the last left to clear the mess.
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****
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (2)
She's a scary woman. Well done, my friend.
Gosh I wish people would fear me like that! Such a badass!