Apple In A Foreign Yard

There was a chill when she walked in,
They stared at her whole self,
As if horns had suddenly appeared on her forehead.
Her brisk walk turned into a limp,
Her calm face suddenly dotted with anxiety.
Sweat,
Uncertainty.

The note on her desk confirmed her fears,
White background blemished with red ink,
The words screamed in her head,
She had seen it coming,
She had anticipated it,
She had recited the script in her head,
Played the video severally.
Just not this way,
Just not this time.

The clock ticked as she packed her desk,
Her office now a skeleton of her abode,
Her dreams washed down in a gutter,
Her hardwork smoked out in a pipe,
Her morals had cost her the job,
Her principles had brought in darkness way too early

As she closed the last door out,
Her vague smile painted her broken heart,
She pitied the women that pitied her more,
She wished they were warriors,
Because certainly,
One of them was next.
For theirs were apples,
Flourished in foreign yards.