Poetry
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Ode to Steve

When through the office one must roam
There is a place that feels like home
Where Stephen Clay himself alone
Returns the cash that’s been on loan

But money is the smallest thing
A visit to that office brings
Along with checks and reckonings
Flow messages from the leftwing

But there there’s more than politics
From office love to Bolsheviks
To sub-par college athletics
The tangents twine and intermix

And regardless of the subject matter
The conversation’s more than chatter
And unlike those who fawn and flatter
Steve uses talent to climb the ladder

And where he is, is but a step
For one so bright, so fun, so hip
So full of life and leadership
That office is but a TouchFON trip

For when he’s finished being favored
Steve will study subjects savored
And when he’s moved to battles braver
We all will miss the TouchFON savior

Until that day, the place remains
Where everybody knows your name
That haven in the dolled disdain
Steve’s domestic-side domain