Friday, 21 June 2019

Mr. Production Superintendent Man

How many bosses in your life did you truly admire and respect? That made your work fun and you took pride in it? How many bosses have you worked for that wouldn't ask you to do something that he wouldn't do? In July of 2004, my boss retired. I wrote this poem in his honour. It was also the first poem someone asked me to autograph. If you got a good boss, cherish him (or her) because when they leave, nothing is ever the same. Jerry, I now appreciate more than ever all the things you did for ALL of us. Jerry, was originally from Oklahoma, so any southerners out there may understand the "twang" in his voice, which I tried to do in the poem.

God Damn, Mr. Superintendent man.
Running a bakery on cruise control,
Always running at a steady flow!
He gave it his all - his heart and soul.
Tell us, you don't have to go!
Your stories you told a time or two,
From Dallas and Kansas City, too.
But the one's we'll remember best,
Happened right here.
I'm sure, they'll never, be put to rest.

By the oven, nuts on the floor.
A scared worker,
Heading for the mixing room door.
"I wouldn't have done that,
If I was you!"
All he saw was Jerry's veins,
Turning deep blue.
"Get the buckets,"
Said more then one time.
But you always restored order,
Until things were running just fine.

You could see through our lies.
"Bull shhhhiiittttt."
Originality, we would try.
"I'm in jail,"
But this too, would fail.
How many gray hairs,
Did you receive,
When we tried to deceive?

You told us your roots,
Down Oklahoma way.
Kunta Campbell, was born that day!
Words you never wanted to hear,
"Not my job."
And you proved it, year after year.
Our "String bean,"
Was a tall, lean, working machine!

On July 2nd, 2004,
You'll take one final walk,
Out the side door.
With tears and applause,
We'll say good-bye.
If you listen closely,
The building....
Will let out a sigh.

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