Somewhere between the cracks of chronic comic cosmic cackling
Seeps blood and choosy boozie floozie oozy fluids down the wall
To pool and run across the floor and corridor
To convert the bureaucrats to acrobats in spats and hats
So they slip and trip and skip and drip
And dance in funny capers dropping all their papers
Stained and mashed and crushed and trashed to make a mess galore.
But upper echelons of bosses
Look up from their naughts and crosses
Hexed and vexed by jerky clerks
Who pirouette and dance quadrilles
Across the floor, on window sills,
And slither here and there and thither.
“Goddamn!” They slam their bulky hams with palms so sly –
Threaten with their power drills to make round holes above the eye.
The clerks all scream, “It’s just a dream we’re all a team
And don’t ask why.” And so they cower in the shower
Confounded over corporate power,
Wheezing, coughing, sneezing, freezing –
Hoping that they’ll soon be coping as they gracefully go loping
‘Round the wet and soppy soapy sloppy tessellated shower floor.
“Back to work!”, the bosses rant, ties askew, eyes aslant,
“There’s things you do and things you can’t!”
But workers wet and workers weary
Fed with practice, jammed with theory,
Red rimmed eyes and vision bleary,
Hungry for a chicken salad topped with sauce but rather pallid,
Stuffed their ears with rubber foam,
Crammed the stairs and elevators,
Tumbled down the escalators,
Grabbed the cabs put on their tabs
And headed straight for spouse and home.