Business Speak II: For Matthew and for Balance

Business Speak II: For Matthew and For Balance

There's a guy outside my building
Who's holding some sort of sign.
A red-inked 'FUCK' on a dollar bill.
He's slamming poetry in rhyme.

He's quoted Noam Chomsky
And misquoted Gandhi twice
Then "Happiness in Slavery"
Trent Reznor adds some spice.

Wait, now he's back to slamming,
misunderstanding the term 'sub-prime',
Which he's pronouncing 'sub-preem'
Then half-rhyming it with 'crime'.

He's watched too much Adam Curtis
And thinks all of us are rich,
Getting handjobs in our castles
While he's wanking in his ditch.

Well, buddy let me tell you
I've been banking seven years
And I've got chuff-all savings.
I'm perpetually in arrears.

Is it possible you're just jealous?
Or just the judgemental type?
It's fashionable to be zealous
But don't believe the hype.

Yes, let me set the record straight:
I work a thirteen hour day,
See my children at the weekends
And only rarely holiday.

Yet you imagine me out golfing
Snorting endless cocaine bumps.
I'm not the Wolf of Wall Street, mate.
We're not all Donald Trumps.

I bought The Art of the Deal, it's true
But I haven't read it since.
Like you bought a copy of Purple Rain
But it failed to make you Prince.

What you don't like is working.
You like to strum on your guitar
And scribble half a protest song
About why I shouldn't have my car.

I know a load of bankers.
They're just ordinary folks.
Some assholes, but that's just humankind.
It's mostly normal blokes.

I know that you won't listen
But to be entirely frank
You shouldn't question my existence
Just for working at a bank.

I read your prissy poem
About my supposed deathbed regret.
You'd posted it on Facebook.
That anti-corporate outlet.

Well carry on, write your stupid song.
See whose deathbed that enhances.
For me, I'll grunt and sweat for cash.
As for regret, I'll take my chances.

Shackleton

SHACKLETON

“Hi my name’s Shackleton
And I’d like some insurance
For a ship I’ve just bought
It’s called the Endurance.
It’ll all be plain sailing
if the weather is nice
though possibly less so
If we’re caught in the ice.”

“I’m popping down south.
Right down where it’s cold
And I’m doing it now
Before I’m too old.
It’s not just for me though.
It’s a big prize for our nation
Plus there’s something
Heroic about exploration.”

“It’s just good that we know things
And visit far places.
It inspires young children,
puts smiles on their faces.
And the polar regions
Remain unexplored
Sorry, why are you yawning?
You seem rather bored.
I’m telling you chaps
Of a great expedition
The least you could do
Is sit still and listen.”

“We missed out on conquering
The blessed South Pole
Scott hit the goal post,
Norway scored the goal.
And what I’m suggesting
Is precisely as bold.
I’ve been South before.
I’m quite used to the cold.”

“I’m basically planning
To walk edge to edge
Myself and five others
Sixty dogs and a sledge
And if some of you grinches
Aren’t charmed by all that
I’ll take Mrs Chippy
The Antarctic Cat.”

“If any Norwegian
Thinks he can go faster
We’ll have a head start.
It won’t be a disaster.
Invest in me now!
That’s my advice.
It’s a guaranteed win
(Unless we get trapped in the ice)”

And so Shackleton sailed
To explore the great mystery
Of the great frozen world
But he sailed into history.
And so even today
We celebrate him
And his epic mission
Though the outcome was grim.

We praise his ambition
Despite all his flaws.
We celebrate bravery
And his noble cause.
We recognise greatness
Even in failure,
See the best of humanity
In those frozen sailors.

Because we know that greatness
Is not what we earn
But in how we fail and recover
And in how much we learn.
Shackleton shows us
With his determination
How we can be a better person,
a better house,
a better nation.

Business Speak

A thousand feet above Wall Street,
Investment bankers banking,
Arcanely betting pension funds
On British sterling tanking.

The rowdy shouts of raucous louts
Just thrilled to be a broker.
Grinning faces, palming aces
In every game of poker.

Up in the air of Canada Square
All the traders trading.
Do they not know nor care to know
The lights are slowly fading?

On flash cellphones, agreeing loans,
the lenders banter, chatter.
They do not know that when they go
None of this will matter.

No deathbed speaker ever spoke
Of wishing they had been less broke.
As the lights go out, no-one cares
How well they played in stocks and shares.

Friends outplayed and foes outgunned
But what is left when days are done?
A wife neglected, children shunned.
A gold watch from a mutual fund.
They wasted life and now are stunned
On time you spend, there's no refund.

Don’t Smile

Just outside there in the hall,
pinned up on nearly every wall,
there’s illustrated signs of rules.
The kind you find in infant schools.
Rules and regs beyond belief.
Penalties are etched beneath.

Don’t walk! Don’t run!
Don’t go out in the midday sun.
Don’t talk! Don’t chew!
Don’t do what you want to do.

Don’t laugh! Don’t smile!
Be polite. Walk single file.
Don’t do this or this or that.
Don’t be a jerk, a twerp, a brat.

Don’t wear jeans with worn-out knees.
Don’t say ‘cheers’. Do say ‘please’.
Don’t walk too fast or slow. Don’t shove!
Don’t live!
Don’t give!
Don’t take!
Don’t love.

But that’s out there,
out in the hall.
These days I don’t go there at all.
These days I stay in here. It’s fine.
You see I’ve made my own small sign.

It sits upon my empty shelf
and just says simply ‘Be Yourself.’

Crow’s Feet

Her face is a map with no directions.
No directions and no key.
No pathways marked for you, my friend.
It’s a private map for me.

Learned these blessed twenty years,
I’ve seen it change and grow.
I’ve learned the frown which says ‘don’t stop’,
the smile which says ‘please go’.

I’ve mapped the tear-stains on her cheeks,
surveyed every laughter line.
Those crow’s feet mark no ways or stays
but twenty years of love and time.

Premature

Backwards we all went
past the chip shop in the car,
past the busy roundabout
that used to be a cinema.
Turned in by a yellow pub,
took the long steep gravel drive,
held our breath collectively
and listened to your mother cry.

What is there to really say?
Your last tomorrow was yesterday?

No sermon to speak. No sound advice.
We sang some hymns.
Your coffin looked nice.