She arrives in high stilletto’s And a miniskirt so taught That the boys are all distracted And our job becomes a rort, And the office girls get ****** And production spirals down So then our new Middle Manager Rolls up her sleeves and goes to town....
She sticks her oar in frequently And stands with jutted hip, She’s territorial dynamite And serves us gloating lip. She often curries favour With Department Heads and such And makes a fuss at our expense Which irritates so much!
She has a way to circumvent The types she will not face, In using her authority To snidely put them in their place. Her manner is too sharp And too dismissive for my taste And the condescending smile Has me grinding teeth to paste.
And the way she stands and taps her toe And glares beneath her brows Has the office juniors panicking And avoiding, as allows. There’s an issue over paper And the telephone account And the petty cash, though balanced, Is a questionable amount.
Historically our working week Has employed a give and take With an easy flexibility That allows us all a break, But the new Middle Manager Has reversed the mode of work So that everyone competes And the roster’s gone beserk!
Her manner’s often strident With a whiplash to her voice And the snarl of her vindictiveness Leaves us all with little choice But to bend our backs to labour, Work our fingers to the bone And suffer her till knock off Then, thank God, we’re fleeing home!
There’s a memo in the “In box” Rumour has it, from on high, That due to overdue restructuring, That some redundancies are nigh. And though there’s great reluctance And some measure of regret... It seems our new Middle Manager Has got her notice...Sorry Pet!