Imaginary Beards

Men rubbing their imaginary beards
Once important in their careers
Maundering their views and attempting to scheme
Outcomes to raise their self esteem

Crony handshakes in ivory towers
Serve to perpetuate their acquired powers
A boy’s club following shonky rules
They are the sailors of the ship of fools

The chairman presides with a rooster chest
Proud to be thought of as the best
He scans the room to see who cheered
Wanting so much to be revered

He speaks in CAPS and underlines
With words in red on sticky signs
He conducts a theater of the absurd
With the aim of having the final word

The treasurer arrives out of his closet
To scan the trees but not the forest
He calculates his numbers and abruptly hollers
That cents are more important than dollars

He only cares about the budget
Of which he most certainly fudged it
His community spirit is abysmal
But he doesn’t see that as anything sinful

The IT guy so politically correct
Speaks eloquently with aplomb dialect
He likes to sit on the chairman’s knee
The ultimate suckling mini-me

He likes to wield a Trump-like axe
Presenting us with alternative facts
He builds his case to befuddle us all
Resulting in the usual brawl

The privileged wife of one of the men
A local gal thinks she’s Parisienne
With sculptured hair mushroom shaped
She’s got a tongue that can really grate

She sits, listens and rarely contributes
Focused more on her latest swimsuits
Dreaming the life of a socialite
She’s certainly got a caustic backbite

Protected by their own by-laws
They’re really just a bunch of whores
They grab in bulk from the cookie jar
Just like a bourgeois Russian tsar

Each year we invite them to our Xmas party
To spread goodwill and eat salami
We wish to meet and be less busy
But they never show, those of the strata committee