My honest, real boss sucks. 
That’s because she has to. Some job titles are, as the expression goes, anathemas. Disquiet raising the roof. Boss, leader, principal, director, chair, honcho, chief, chancellor, prexy, officer in charge, top chef, head of the shift, muse. What does it take to earn and maintain these titles? Ideology.   
 
Casting spells. Constantly interviewing me as I do with every other employee, affiliate, colleague, member, collaborator, associate sans souci. Muse first!  
 
Encore… A poem is a picture. Have a Shrek glass of water after sunset, a big help defining my boss’s properties degrading, shaken to ..oops.. It’s a picture like hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares) ..in this one I’m emotionally shot with depth as a thespian-rapper rounding off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence. I never meet her on a Ferris wheel.