While we were working
She was standing in the department’s corridor
Staring at us with crossed arms
Like prison’s guards would do while
Watching the rebels on the plantation field.
I caught a firing gaze of her with a strong message
Of being fully self, trying to patronize the new staff
From a higher point of her eyes, shooting up her nose.
Once the patient left she stepped in the cubicle
To perform her provocative, intimidating and harsh speech to us.
We were the new staff.
Me and a fine young man
who was still classy enough to ignore her discourteous behavior
Flooding fiercely over us in the last couple of weeks
When she was speaking with an insolent tone, shaping her body language
Into a furious see of importance, thinking of us maybe
As some school’s children’s pupils
Who deserved to be punished
Because the visor or the mask did not fit properly on our face
While into the corridor or cubicles was nobody
And only sounds we could hear sometimes
Were words in her native language
Speaking with her husband
Who, by the way, was still there
To help her micromanaging us.
Yet me, a 46 years old woman
I was not accepting anymore
This intimidating bully-squad
From that young woman
Who pretended to have the right
Of acting toward me like a police patrol
Catching drugged people in the high streets,
Preaching the importance of “infection control”,
while she herself brought the bottle of water
in the clinical area
after previously placed it
next to her pu..y in our team meeting.
How I even dared this?
To speak up freely on my name,
To stand up against her behaviour
Which spoke out bullying volume.
Instead of having a sign of understanding my point of view,
Regretfully I was asked by the seniors to apologize!!!
Let me break down the story line
To not confuse you in this quad.
I wish I could say that this is a work of fiction
And any similarity with the real world is a pure coincidence.
Regrettably this is just another piece of statement
That abuse mood is alive
And greatly covered under the shed
By the seniors in order to keep the downs
In a little terror.
Too young maybe to understand the people’s sensibilities
Or too much worked out the way to the chair
Revenging some sort of situations.
God knows why!
However, let me not point out that now.
Tomorrow it would be their turn…
Today instead I am questioning…
My questions are hard and deep
Over this taboo of covering shit
Just to pretend to be in line with the protocols.
Giving the right to the abuser
Instead to set the justice for who was aggressed.
Are the protocols stating this?
Or is just another way to roll on
Into the non-morals’ norms
In a chain of upside-down world…
Yet another question could be
How on the earth people who lack skills
Still preach them heavily?
Dictionary calls this as hypocrisy
Yet the word is too heavy for their fake gut.
Am I right to say that the world is still not fair?
I think I am.
Thank you for reading my poem which would be included in the new poetry project where I would like to bring up the taboos of our fluid freedom in Europe.