Those who can do
I've made such a mess of my talents;
I've made such a hash of my job;
I cannot keep order or balance;
I'm down to my very last bob.
I've run out of suitable fables;
I can't explain why we're all skint;
I cannot do sums, recite tables;
I can't take advice or a hint.
I'm parked by some broken computers;
I'm asked to make sense of my stock;
I'm addled; I've run out of suitors;
I think that my brains are in hock.
I'm surrounded by multiple moaners;
I keep making simple mistakes;
I won't get a rise or a bonus;
I'm a sucker who doesn't get breaks.
But the ministers say they'll re-train me:
Perhaps they are showing me pity.
But at least they'll be setting my brain free –
Yes, I can't wait to work in the City.
Read the Guardian article here