Feels like a bitter, lumpy pill to swallow

Muttered commiserations from those in the know

Do not help to choke it down with dignity

I'll drown it instead - in the waves of self pity

Washing over me - and a few glasses of red

Pre-cooked, colleagues murmur - comes from the office

Of the director-general, seat of power

Chosen to keep the troops in line, eyes ahead

But mostly to make clear the path of success

For those that haven't received the message yet

Why such a sting? I can't even say for sure

I want their bloody job (and the attached strings)

They can keep the tiny crumbs of power

That drop from mightier lips - and the trappings

(Three square metres, one plastic meeting table)

Perhaps the throbbing between the shoulder blades

Comes from reaching for the rung on the ladder

To find it coated in slippery snakeskin

That enticing words had come from a forked tongue

I'd like to tell them where to stick their apple

Or could it be the same stupid sentiment

That as a child in school made me feel angry

When others got to answer questions that I knew

Made me stick my hand up highest, and crave praise

From disliked teachers - have I learnt so little?

Perhaps the only thing that's changed in twenty years

Is now I know how to take it on the chin

It's never personal in this game, wrong time,

Wrong place, wrong face - other jobs will come

If nothing else, it all helps thicken the skin