A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

This was only ever a temporary contract;
a relief position that served both our purposes.
I had never asked what you sought, knowing
that I would not be it, knowing that even if
I did possess all the qualifications listed
to denote the ideal candidate, I’d not apply
for the job. You see, I’ve two already, both
full time, and I’ve still not been released
from my indentured servitude. Even if
you headhunted me for the position, 
you’d find me encumbered. Strings attached. 
You’d regret it. Trust me, I know these things. 
But now you’re interviewing applicants, 
telling me about impressive resumes, and I
realise I want this role. I try to probe
my motivations. It’s a small pay rise 
with some attractive fringe benefits,
but I know my worth now. There would need to be
significant negotiation of terms and recompense
before a contract could be signed.  Still,
I consider options. I aim for subtlety,
enquiring about your interview process,
and it’s almost a relief to me that your answers
bring into focus that this is not the place for me.
It has been my most valued short-term contract
to date: I’ve put theoretical skills into practice,
and I’m proud of the legacy I leave. My name 
may even be forgotten, but my fingerprints
remain on walls and door handles, my syntax 
within the policies and procedures manual.
I said, I would leave you better than I found you,
and in all humility, I believe I can say
I did just that.