Five green chilled cubes, depart from their base,
With a tired look of dread, on each pilots face.
All uniformly dressed, in green white and black,
Accusations of 'milking it', await the last one back.
Excalibur, Merlin, Gawain, Galahad and Lancelot,
The gallant Knights of the Round Table? I think not
With phony professionalism, they wear dark green ties
Though no fool the outside world, see through their lies.
Pick-notes, greens, run-outs, stock-checks and rotating,
Poor stock-levels, write-offs, spillages and re-dating,
A miserable northern old git, that has dodgy knees,
Richard, Steve and a patronising mans, love for cheese.
Frequently asked if committed, and part of the team,
An efficient quality service, is the unattainable dream.
Five parked green chilled cubes, with one of them T'd
Tomorrow's another day, so no need to feel aggrieved.
