In businesses and teams, big and small, as well as rock groups it's important that everyone knows their role. Not surprisingly there is not always agreement about the hierarchy in the organism. In his biography Keith Richards (pp460-461) tells the story that Charlie Watts punched Mick Jagger on the nose before telling him, 'you are my fucking singer!' Are you drummer, singer or Phil Collins?
'Where’s my drummer?'
I crave all of the attention.
Me, myself and I, no censure.
A martyr to the vortex I’ve created.
Pampered, pandered too, permanently waited.
Where’s all the adulation.
Respect? Know my reputation?
Out there every day, making it real.
The boss, out front, I am making the deal.
Where’s my drummer?
Really, could you be dumber?
Because you are my fucking singer.
Jacked up, inflated ego, gone in a glimmer.
More people are writing and thinking about work based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to email@example.com
Please do send a poem you’ve written or one you like and we’ll share it with other WorkInWord readers.
It's easy to join our team of readers. Check out this video to see how.