Red tape and sticky back plastic
hold this place together.
Whilst the workers,
flustered and flabbergasted,
end up as basket cases.
Incapacitated. they wait.
Until the papers are signed,
signed again, then duplicated.
Sticking plasters
over gaping festering lacerations.
The rot starts in the foundations,
spreads to the walls,
soaks into the floors
and is then spread
with every tread
of the boss’s heavy boots.
Taken to every room,
by the man in the suit.
Kicked up each backside,
The rot is left behind.
Where it starts to multiply.
It infects the computers
with its insidious virus.
I.T department says call us back
Our systems are down,
we are under attack.
It gets into the woodwork
and the seats beside us.
Into every crevice it stacks
it starts to tear at the cracks.
Patience is worn like an old dusty suit.
We work through it all,
this thankless pursuit.
Dumbfounded and forlorn.
Paperwork smudged and torn.
Smiles upside down.
Life in eyes long gone.
Talk in sighs, whispered help me cries
at this life we have grown to despise.
Red tape and sticking plasters
Stop the blood
from spraying faster.
Here in hell.
We make the harshest choices.
Are you with us,
or are you one of the few positive voices.
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