My latest poetic effort; a tongue-in-cheek reminisce about those times spent in the corporate world from where the obligatory uniform of suit, tie, briefcase and filofax over the years swiftly became, no suit, open-necked shirt, smart phone and man bag.
So pull up a latte or a mocha, throw in a Belgian bun or tuna mayo sarnie or two, and see if any of what passes below stirs a memory – or a shudder!
Corporate suits and corporate lattes
Are so very corporate things,
Symbols of corporate success
And the status that it brings.
As we strive to climb the ladder
Following the path of chosen careers,
Fashions change and then come back
Once in every twenty years.
Yet one thing remains a constant
That with the beverage of our choice,
When we look and ponder the menu
We wait for that little voice.
The one that swirls inside your head
Every time you join the queue,
Latte or mocha, skinny or full fat
What a terrible dilemma for you.
And if you frequent the high street chains
They’ll like as not offer an inducement or three,
For to those wearing the corporate suits
There exists the aura of much easy money.
Now some may think I’m being bitter
Maybe consumed by jealousy,
That the corporate world is now way beyond
Where I once strived to be.
But nothing can further be from the truth
For it as a writer where I prefer to be,
Wearing my Saracens top and track suit bottoms
And holding a mug of Rosy Lee.