like a chicken with its head cut off,
a head as pretty as hers is,
she’s on the heels of the biggest story
since she’s started with us,
only nobody is getting back to her
and she’s desperate enough
to even speak with me,
first asking for help she really doesn’t need,
and contacts I know she does,
I’m so grateful for the attention,
I make calls to these,
telling them to get back to her,
which they eventually do,
she’s grateful enough to
chat with me later about it all,
nothing personal,
just two colleagues rehashing
facts of the case.
It feels like heaven to me,
a soft bone tossed to
an overly eager puppy,
starving for even
the least bit of attention,
almost, but not quite
back to those days
when she claimed to be cub
and me as her mentor,
the quiet after a conflict,
neither of us looking
too closely at the devastation.
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