RSS SPIRIT

She pounds the Starbucks,
"But we are getting off course."
You dig in and, refusing railroaded,
you drive home a truthful train of thought.

Always smile, never sweat, nothing
is a problem, yes we can you bet.
Do they hate me? Scared? Bored?
Caffeinated attempts at accord.

Selling is your gyroscopic fiddler.
Your center motion doubt quelling
type balancer. A shirt starched
one man band where ideas are marched.

Shake hands collect cards,
we will annoy each other later.
To make it look easy is hard,
when really you bring it like a freighter.