The Golden Handshake...

There had been rumors,
A few grew into a slew;
In the boss's stammers,
Everyone sought a clue.

Monday morn, at work,
I went to sign the book,
Only to have to lurk,
Give it an odd long look.

I tried to find my route,
Ran a finger down the list,
A few engines did toot,
Warning the winter mist.

Summoned by the boss,
I was soon in her office,
She seemed less at loss,
Cold, minus any malice.

'The bridge's to be burned,
We have no use for it'
– the key had been turned,
Only the signal to be lit.

'Your skills, they're fine,
This is about that track,
It led to a once rich mine,
But nothing's left to sack.'

I seemed to understand,
Didn't ask why or how,
She held out her hand,
One in a garish golden glove.