Another poem from John Phillips book Shorts and Shots.
Come to the Christmas party, revel in festive glee;
There’s going to be a disco, everything s for free.
Let’s put aside our differences, together we will stand;
The Captains and the Corporals, and various other ranks.
Let’s put aside our differences, we hear the Captain s cry.
It’s all for one and one for all, we really ought to try.
Yet these are those who cause the rifts; behind their walls they hide,
Their meetings and computers, their fax machines and ties.
These are those who call the shots, These are those who try
To twist the screws for more and more, their aspirations fly.
These are those who suck us dry, who leave us, home to crawl,
Angry, depressed, exhausted and of little use at all.
But sadly its no one way street, we too must share the blame;
With our back-shots, bickering and constant selfish aims.
As each man sings his own, self-song, ours, a sad refrain,
With swaggering, ranting Corporals, each trying to make his name.
We, the men who do the work, we are the men who can;
In unity and truth we stand as tall as any man.
Yet debts and doubts and poverty; commitments and our fears,
Mean we’re just the ladder’s steps to Management careers.
So now it’s time to party, in drunken revelry.
Congratulate each other, with corporate bonhomie.
Maybe a new beginning? Most likely we shall see,
That everything remains the same within our factory.