A Forced Retiree
Who had gone to the Headquarters
With my real age and a wagging tongue?
Who at The Board pounded me with mortars
From a determined snitching lung?
I guess a fellow while still standing
Didn’t aromatic gossip mind
In the area of Image Rebranding
A trusted helper of cops to a crook find!
Though, I could’ve sworn
Some fluffy cushion was the chap offered
For the journey that should have one worn,
Signaling that an honor had been conferred.
And there his fee was cleanly settled
For Good Flesh and Bones en-route rattled!
What next does A Forced Retiree:
New hopes recline on God, The Referee?
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