crackling crazily for a few giddy seconds,
burning trails on the back of our eyes.
The love song of the well-paid professional
What is it about meetings?
I‟m conscious of time
so I‟ll be brief:
What is it about meetings?
The round and round
and round and round
of same old same old same old sound
of boiling in your own piss
that gives you that hiss
in your ears,
that ends with you wondering
how you‟d break the legs
of that dog on the bus
if it attacked you,
because it could, you know;
and you know it would,
given your febrile state
and the fact
that it‟s a 7 stone woman
and a 12 stone rottweiler.
I‟m conscious of time, so…
Throw a pointless, witless argument
into the heady mix;
slightly defeats the object,
but more healthy than a Twix:
Fun Size, it says
on the wrapper in Arabic.
Still, better than the tea
with just a hint of Harpic.
The same old same old
round and round
dead debate, like the dying sound
of a Hoover winding down
The same old arguments
predictable as this rhyme
we‟re straying into middle class self-pity
56