Foreword; this is an addition to the previous poem in its timeline - Don't tell me, Guinness
Egg nodded in his dull comprehending manner.
The tiny market square they stood in, sheltered by walls and a ceiling,
seemed to shrink in around O'Shea as his anger boiled, craving the foremost
authority.
He stood, primitive, and gargled through a retired tongue.
"... My kids are to be colleged, man.
For when they arrive, i shall not be less or more
than i am more or less! Moral-less, for your corporate jungle
has forced me above to the highest tree of disgrace, so
if it comes fist to rifle, then death on the stairs would i love!"
"Well what would you have me do?" Egg billowed through a wheezy chuckle.
Liam bound back in a swift move of disgust, his veins throbbing
through the miranda of cracks in his worn flesh.
It was not a matter of circumstance that brought these together.
It was a matter of delegation.
It was not a matter of matters which mattered, or mattered to those who
matter the most.
"Mark my... WELL YOU TELL ME, EGG - FOR YOU ARE THE OFFICER,
AND I AM THE FELLOW.
DOES IT NOT SEEM CLEAR TO YOU, THAT I AM HERE TO HEAR FROM YOU?
IS IT NOT IN SUCH A THEME, THAT GREEN AND BLUE MAKE YELLOW? NO!
I STAND FOR YOU, UNDER YOUR NAUSIOUS BREATH OF AIR-CON"
The unnerving pause after 'air-con' sent Mr. Egg into a spin,
and he promptly corrected the accusation, turning the office
into a furnace where it was catalyst to any number of
untamed reactions.
"TO PROVIDE MY FAMILY THEIR GOODIE BAGS, TO SLAG OFF ALL
THE CRACKPOT HAGS, TO BAG MYSELF - A LIKELY LAD - THAT CHANCE
I MIGHT HAVE HAD AND GRABBED,
NABBED THE BACK OF TABS I SEE
to provide me and my family, our goodie bags"
[edited structure to match previous]
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