I'm late to an appointment,
An interview of sorts.
With a fellow you may know of,
Known as "Time" to most of us.
A Craigeslist post that caught my eye,
"Time's assistant, needed sourly!"
Stranger yet was typed in bold:
"Only serious candidates implore me."
I tried sending my interest with hast,
Had it written up nice, proof read it twice.
Yet, Time responded before it was sent.
"Come interview in an hour, I'll be at Trump Tower."
So I've scurried and scampered to catch the train,
Resume in hand, and my shirt without stains.
Despite having heard stories that Time was insane,
I'm excited to meet him on Trump Tower Lane.
In the gold plated lobby, a man asks me my folly.
In my hurry I ignore his inquiry, asking:
"For the price of a dime, would you send me to Time?"
He looks away wisely, refusing to guide me.
From a woman with a cane, I ask direction to Trump Tower Lane
She points to the ceiling and states, rather unfeeling:
"Vertically walk, horizontally talk, and try not to follow the side walk chalk."
This woman is crazy, I quickly surmise, deciding she's telling all sorts of lies.
So I exit the lobby to search for a sign, an arrow, or the end of a line.
Outside all that I find is a youth, drawing chalk pictures on a shoe shines booth.
"Has Time been through?" I ask, not knowing what else to do. Responds the youth:
"Yes, of course, a moment ago. Though now he's off to a matinee show."
O, dear, I think I need a drink.
(to be continued)
