This Be The Curse

They fuck it up, the Management.
They may not mean to, but they do;
And when the budget’s overspent,
Be sure it’s always you they’ll screw.

They’re ever moving, ever up;
Ambition valued more than skills.
Use long spoons if with them you sup,
And fear that smile – for it kills.

They have degrees and MBAs,
But not a jot of commonsense;
They fumble in the fog and haze,
Yet know the art of self-defence.

They love statistics bric-a-brac,
And all the ways of counting beans;
But understanding’s what they lack,
For they’ve no clue to what it means.

They worship graphs and coloured charts,
For want of having human soul;
And so they rant like Queens of Hearts,
“Just do it now, or heads will roll!”

They dream up targets, goals and plans,
Then spin them, so their nonsense fits
With castles built upon the sands;
I’d laugh if they were not such shits.