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Ode To A.C.A.S. ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales

"The time has come", a great voice said,
"To talk of many things;
Of systems, of curriculums,
And why the typist sings."
We spoke of work, we wrote reports
On strikes and EAP's,
Then struggle with our monthly stats -
Those damned analyses!

So here we squat from dawn to dusk,
From eight 'til well past tea,
Though SEO's, (and favourites!) seem
To drift away by three.
Still, office life is not that bad;
We had a bit of fun
When Mildred told an Irish joke
Then choked upon her bun.

Here's for a quiet afternoon;
"Not so!" says Mrs Kyte,
"That case with Henry Cooper's son -
He's putting up a fight."
Our Archie's got a meeting on
With men in bitter mood,
To judge by all the breaking glass
And cries for "Tea!" and "Blood!"

Come half past two there's such a stir;
"What's happening?" we cry.
The door's flung open with a thud,
And we quickly find out why.
"Where's Mr Jones?" the figure asks,
"The Coal Board men are due!"
A search reveals his quaking form
Locked in a downstairs loo.

Oh, no! The telephone again!
Who's calling now, and why?
"You've gone and got yourself the sack?
There's daft of you. Goodbye!"

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