The Chief Executive Speaks Poem by Len Webster

he's there
grey hair balding
on the stage
facing the rows
where gaps flourish
in enforced submission

he's there
twisting words
out of the laptop
on the lectern
before him

bored and heavy-headed
the enforced ranks
look up
look down
look around
sometimes shiftily

all have aims to be set
all have targets to be met
would rather be
elsewhere

and he
lover of technology
that does not quite
match his expectations

preaches of the future
that slips away
as soon as
it's predicted

he will sleep
easily tonight
in his bed

beyond consciousness
he'll snore
axing numbers
when cuts are required
to shape his strategic plan