you’re supposed to be good with words, Tony tells me,
write something, write something so good it will make him stay,
and Tony is swallowing his tears, pushing a black gel pen
in my hand, what good are all those books of yours if you can’t,
and I want to tell Tony to back off,
I’ve only worked here for a few months,
I only invited the team to that open mic at the Crown
because I need friends in Norwich, and I don’t know
what my job really is, what is an analyst, I am just
forwarding emails and reading r/analysis,
but he is standing over my desk and his face is a dishcloth,
and I can hear Kanye from the earbuds around his neck,
and what if I DID have all that power, so I scribble
something down and Tony wanders away, and I
check my password on the post-it and log in