The Monday Lunch Meeting

On Mondays they feed us lunch and call it a “meeting”.
And so I sit every Monday at noon listening and learning nothing.
Techno-babble they are spewing quickly moves to the back of my head like white noise.
Nothing is sticking. Nothing is stopping. I struggle to stay awake.
My mind wanders to other places. Places where creativity runs wild and I’m not shackled to this demonstration.
So I begin the write this poem.
I look at these slides as if they were in Klingon.
I have no idea what they mean nor do I care.
My kingdom for a sharp object to put me out of my misery!
The only thing relevant in this “meeting” is the clock.
It slowly counts down the minutes and seconds of this charade I have to endure.
Finally, it’s over…. but not for me.
I'm on clean up.
I leave my pad and pen to consolidate slices of pizza and take the boxes to the kitchen.
I come back to the conference room to pick up my things and return to my desk.
I glance at the clock, four more hours to go.