That Toads

That toad

Pushing against the wheel

That stuck in the mud feeling

The feeling of being ignored

By the people I work for

The students do progress

Or not,

And I watch as others

Go on.

In my hands are the tools to push forward

Yet fear of change and fear of loss push me back

If I take matters to tribunals

Then my future is uncertain.

No trade unions in my half

Just empty echoes and the feeling of oppression

Bosses who get rich from my work

Being treated better in the client companies than by my own

Where I’m not treated as anything

But disposable

A mild annoyance

Rather than the key player

The mover and shaker.

The wannabe





Jobs given to others

Without being advertised

Then claims of deep thought used

In the recruitment process

When it’s clear

That wasn’t the case.

The boss’ daughter and the boss’ lover

Both promoted

You came out the wrong cock

That’s what it boils down to

Or you don’t suck the right cock.

These weren’t business decisions,

I hope the business survives those moments of nepotism



After a moment

They’ll have to stop taking the piss

Or people will go and they’ll replace them.

With another victim, willing to work

Willing to be treated like badly

For the security of a job.

Someone less good, but more motivated

When they should have trained the people who left


Debt ties us in to these jobs

As do family obligations

And we spend years looking for new opportunities

Not knowing if we’ll find them.

Watching the bitterness build

The frustration.

Watching incompetents get promoted

Because you I am too good in my job

I never will be.

Bad enough for promotion.

Too ill to build another business

Or  too scared. Too uncertain.

If I lose everything

Then will I be Kipling’s man?

That half true nonsense

Written for a doomed son

Killed in the trenches

By bad management

The trenches of a hundred years ago

Are not the workplaces of today

But the management needs

Humanity and not to rely

On looking at the financial figures

Instead of the direction we drive.

I despise those idiots

Who sit in those offices

Planning nothing

With no idea of what I do

What do they know

Of the everyday suffering?

Perhaps they feel

As I Fed up with their shitty lot

Fed up with pushing their wheel

Through the mud of work

Larkin spoke of toads

But it’s not that good.

I don’t want to do it anymore.


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