$675,000 / annum (base salary)

 

Mary was in this morning, boss,

she was showing me her stock options,

and we were discussing our conditions here

in this small part of your viral multinational

and you should see us sometimes, boss,

squabbling about our token wages,

our £5 an hour

that sets us: back-knifing, bragging, lying, just to get through the day

trying to steal an extra 5 mins at the end of our lunch, boss

or during the 10 minutes of break time we are given

in the morning and afternoon

just to feel a little better about the cage we are in.

but we know we aren’t getting anywhere, boss,

the way we work our constantly altering shift patterns like some carousel of agony,

with disoriented biological clocks faltering with low ebb batteries:

and boss, being born from ordinary parents can be something an ordinary worker can despise,

just sometimes.

but, boss,

what I find most interesting is the way you get your motivated managers

to keep the shopfloor staff keen about how well the company is doing,

and how much is getting sold by us each day,

and what items are selling the best,

almost like we could give a real shit about the whole thing,

but the prob, boss, is I know who all this is really benefitting:

just those smiling at the top of the pyramid

and who, on the rare occasion, bother to walk into one of these stores,

looking at us there:

lifting,

carrying,

trolleying,

stickering,

securing,

the rich man’s merchandise to guarantee

further riches for the rich man.

but, boss, what I like the most are the rules you have presented

to us workers of your viral multinational,

and how we should behave as members of your big, cuddly family,

while treating each other as competitive forces in some sick relationship,

and not as people who are equally striving for the same crumb of survival.

and when Mary was showing me her stock options, boss,

we snuck a look at the base salary which you have publicly declared,

as being deserved of earning,

and, boss,

it really don’t take much

to find out who really steals in this great family of yours.

Here is a second very fine poem from Brad Evans:

“make the economy scream...”

- Former U.S. President, Richard Nixon

addressing Chile after the 9-11 coup in ’73.

and scream it did!

the British-built hawkers bombing the palace

where the democratically elected president was to be murdered,

they screamed.

the trade unionists,

the leftist activists

of the popular movement,

they, too, screamed.

the hopes and dreams

of the peasants being torn apart

as the tanks screamed into santiago

the martial law,

the executions,

the marching of the victims around the capital stadium,

the human rights’ abuses,

the doors to the embassies of the West

being kept locked

as outside the foreigners amassed

while chileans were butchered

the C.I.A. operation,

the uncovering

declassifying

of the whole involvement

and you, Nixon,

you with your neck thick amongst it.

you got nothing

but screams.

over bomb craters

the pain

in Baghdad is there

and everywhere

and real

as

all day and night

the news reporters

report it:

on the faces of tired civilians

and soldiers fed up with Basra,

trying hard to find new reasons

for being where they now are.

bush walks across the backyard grass to play with his favourite pooch

blair sips his coffee,

they smile,

they negotiate and bid,

promise freedom,

while they await

the anticipated carve-up of Iraq.

and they await...

to steal the oil

that saddam had once stolen,

and to plant diseased fast food stores

over bomb craters

just like

everywhere else

in the

world.

Last update : 05-06-2007 18:21

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